


The Shining Beacon (Year 2)

by CocksAndClocks



Series: The Shining Beacon [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, Multi, Ozpin's assistant still wants to quit, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Qrow is slightly more civilized but not by much, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Team STRQ shenanigans increase, and Qrow begins to leave his awkward teenage years behind for awkward adulthood, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-03-05 03:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13378773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks
Summary: Qrow begins his second year at Beacon Academy with some manner of social etiquette given to him by the eccentric Professor Ozpin. Nowalmostable to behave, Qrow navigates his sister's dark plans, his team's lack of cohesion, and the increasingly mysterious headmaster who brought their fates together.





	1. In which Qrow returns to Beacon for his second year and screws things up by doing the right thing

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Year 2! Qrow can't possibly get into more trouble than Year 1.
> 
> Probably.

Every year, during the first week of the academic year, Professor Ferra Agrios suspected Professor Ozpin went entirely without sleep. She already knew he regularly went with less sleep than was wise or healthy, but in that first week she considered it nearly negligible.

She understood why he did it; the pouring in of hundreds of new students meant the annual storm of enrollment issues, last second course changes, and the first year initiations, which meant the organization of teams. It was more work than one man should be able to withstand - unless he was willing to part with the need for sleep and spare all hours to work.

Agrios hated the organization of teams most of all. Ozpin insisted on naming them all personally, miles of student names reduced to four-letter acronyms. The headmaster's computer system took the first steps in team names, generating suggestions that Ozpin rarely accepted, opting instead - to Agrios' great annoyance - to create his own. If Ozpin was any other man, she would accuse him of vanity, as though he were proudly signing his name on each team Beacon produced; in truth, she knew the reasons for his care were more personal. She knew Ozpin was familiarizing himself with every student he accepted into his school, weighing the wisdom and potential of each team leader.

There was a heavy responsibility in each name he gave.

For these reasons Agrios kept her disapproval to herself; she was in an incessant flux of admiration for Ozpin's ethics and exasperation at his utter lack of self-care. She often thought, in that first week of the fall semester, that if he didn't kill himself that she would be inclined to do it for him. That was the mark of an excellent assistant.

On the Thursday of the first week, she sat across from Ozpin's desk, her scroll sifting through the headmaster's team names for approval - not that Ozpin required it, but at times the headmaster overlooked names that might have unwanted double-meanings.

"Team SAFR," she said, breaking the silence between the headmaster's ticking ceiling. "Is that pronounced 'sapphire' or 'saffron'?"

"Saffron," Ozpin replied, his eyes not moving from his monitors. "We had a team named after sapphire six years ago."

"Ah, yes, I remember. But this makes Sunny the team leader."

"So it does."

"Is that...your final decision?" Agrios restrained herself from asking whether it was a wise decision; she rarely saw Ozpin's demeanor turn cold, but she knew how strongly he preferred his decisions respected.

Despite her question's revision, the light from the monitors glinted on Ozpin's glasses as he turned his head toward her.

"Do you have an objection, Ferra?"

"Only a concern, sir. Sunny is a charming girl, but she seems...flighty. Asbel Brick seems the natural leader in the group."

The headmaster chuckled softly. "You're being polite," he said. "Miss Declan lacks a strong sense of focus. At best she may be called flighty; at worst, her inattention to the entirely of a battlefield could see her or one of her teammates dead. Her role as team leader will force her improvement. Her team will see to that."

"Force," Agrios repeated wearily.

"Yes," Ozpin said, the word a smile.

"Then I suppose I have no other edits to make on this batch of team names."

"Allow me to send the next twenty-five," Ozpin said.

Agrios sighed involuntarily. "It's nearly eight o'clock."

"So it is." Ozpin's tone, so very slightly slipped, indicated he knew the direction of this shift in the conversation.  
Agrios recognized the irritation and cut through the polite speech she had rehearsed. "At the risk of sounding like your mother, sir, when did you last eat?"

Ozpin paused, his hand hovering over a screen of student names and photos. "Is that relevant at this very moment, Ferra?"

"That's a deflection and you perfectly well know it," Agrios snapped. "I have more than enough work to do without being your babysitter. I know you're hardly sleeping enough for it to matter, unless dozing off in meetings is your idea of a good night's rest. And how many cups of coffee does that one make today?"

Ozpin met her eyes and took a sip from his raised mug - spiteful, petulant old man. "It is neither my first nor my last," he said, his voice even. "If you don't wish to be my babysitter, I would suggest you have the remainder of the evening off and try to relax."

Agrios felt the insult deeply, her semblance waking abruptly. "And leave you to work alone all night?" she demanded. Her vision flashed, suddenly gold-tinged.

Ozpin's mug broke free from his fingers and slammed on the desk, black coffee splashing over the glass top.

"Ferra!" He stood immediately, avoiding the waves that came in his direction. A black handkerchief made an appearance to wipe up the mess, but Agrios kept the mug under her control.

"Ferra," Ozpin said, when the cup refused to yield to his grip. "Will you please restore natural gravity to my mug?"

She did so without warning. The mug shot upwards, the remaining liquid splattering over Ozpin's hand. She saw him close his eyes against the obvious irritation she knew she had caused.

"Good night, Ferra," he said quietly, wiping his hands on his handkerchief.

Professor Agrios understood the abrupt dismissal; she had certainly earned it and she only cared in regards to leaving Ozpin alone. His tone was neutral but she could hear the unspoken temper behind it. She sighed, her weariness creeping over her. "Good night, sir," she said, picking up her scroll and heading to the elevator, the doors opening at her approach.

"There's a faculty meeting tomorrow morning at nine," she said, holding the door. “In the Green Room.”

"Understood."

She hesitated a moment more in the bright lights of the elevator. "Do take care of yourself, sir." Without waiting for a response she knew would not come, she allowed the doors to close.

Qrow watched silently above from his favorite perch. Throughout the week he had watched the headmaster do nothing more than wake from a nap on his desk, down a pot of coffee, attend a meeting, drink more coffee, and attend to the everlasting list of names.

***

Ozpin didn’t arrange for Qrow to continue his etiquette lessons for two weeks after the start of the term.

It was like Qrow _wanted_ to begin them again. Life was better swearing and stealing liquor from Vale’s corner stores with Tai and shrugging off the use of utensils.

Still. Qrow worried – no, he wasn’t _worried_. Qrow wondered just how busy Ozpin was.

It didn’t take long to find out. A few days spent outside the clock tower window, and Qrow could do the math.

The headmaster didn’t know the meaning of the word sleep. And it was obviously having negative side effects. Ozpin had become irritable (which given the student's track record was something he could recognize much faster than any other). He had also somehow mismatched himself. The carefully matched greens somehow in wrong places. Socks inside out. Scarf askew. Hair –

Well. His hair was always like that.

For a man so prideful in his appearance, this was an abrupt change. Not to mention the stolen naps at his desk, so restless in nature. The man's breathing pattern alone sounded like a struggle for life in the grips of death. If Ozpin didn’t get some decent sleep tonight, Qrow wondered if the man might never wake.

He’d seen this before – a man work himself to death. Some overeager new guard trying to impress Raven back at home.

“If you’re interested, prove you’re worthy,” she’d taunted.

Not that anyone aside from Qrow would know he stood a snowflake’s chance in hell. 

His sister didn’t give a shit about that stuff. 

Everything was the “greater good.” Qrow pitied any man stupid enough to slow her down or get in her way.

Dumb bastard stayed up for five days straight before his heart gave out during a night shift. 

She was only toying with him anyway, but man was she pissed when Qrow’s semblance kicked in and the tribe was spotted by a band of bounty hunters.

If he didn’t die, they could’ve… well. Doesn’t matter now…

And so he witnessed the same blind devotion to an irrational end beneath him.

With a huff of disapproval and a decision made, Qrow waited for the man to refill his coffee mug, biding his time. It only took fifteen minutes for Ozpin’s scroll to ping, the headmaster sighing and rising from his chair, his movements uneven now that he presumed he had no witnesses.

Another moment, and the elevator doors closed, leaving Qrow alone amongst the gears.

The bird swooped down and dropped four small sleeping pills from his beak into the man's drink. He knew the bottle said one is the recommended dose, but given that Ozpin had been going through two... no three? pots of coffee a day, Qrow figured he could use the extra push.

Watching the pills dissolve, he only hoped Ozpin was too exhausted and the coffee too strong for him to notice the bitter taste. Soft flutters of wings had Qrow safe in his hiding place to await his professor's gaunt return.

***

Ozpin was fully aware of the state of his health - or rather, the declining state of it. Ferra was right, of course, but his mental to-do list was still unacceptably long. The team naming ceremony was Friday afternoon and he still had a dozen names to finalize, now without Professor Agrios' assistance. He sat down to a fresh cup of coffee, his soiled handkerchief pushed aside until he could be bothered to fetch a clean one.

His body submitted to the very familiar form of his chair, his vision a touch blurry until he shook sleep further away. Everything hurt in some manner or another; his eyes, strained by the light of his monitors, his back and shoulders aching despite the custom shape of his chair, his head pounding from either too much coffee or not enough. His coffee even now betrayed him, grown bitter from dulled senses. That, he thought, made him the saddest of all. One more day and he could lessen this furious pace.

But today was not that day.

A quiet hour passed in productivity, the last of the teams christened and sent off to Ferra, who would rise early to check the lists she forbade him from making but knew he would regardless. Ozpin nearly felt guilty about causing her to lose her temper; his exhaustion did not allow him to remain angry with her for long.

Speaking of exhaustion - Ozpin felt the slowing of his mind as the evening dragged on, the words on his screens growing more and more unfocused despite the attempts to rouse his attention back. His head felt unnaturally heavy on his shoulders. He took off his glasses to rub weary eyes; instantly the darkness behind his lids seduced him, his consciousness dropping like a weight in his mind.

He sat back quickly, feeling the room spin with the movement. For an alarmed moment he wondered if perhaps he was working himself to the point of illness. He reached for his scroll but refrained from texting Professor Agrios; his ever-present pride restrained the action until his hand was entirely forced. He reached for his coffee to ward off this sudden surge of sleepiness.

His eyes fell upon the black feather immediately. It rested just steps away from the desk. From Ozpin's coffee.  
 _Qrow Branwen._

Ozpin rose from his seat, but the care in the motion did little to keep the office from undulating like waves around him. He seized the back of his chair to steady himself. He knew that Qrow must be near or even still within the office, but Ozpin acknowledged the effects of whatever Qrow had drugged him with were dizzying enough without attempting to search the dark ceiling for a black bird. He cursed internally, but did the only thing he could. He reached for the keypad and shakily entered in the code to his bedroom. 

Sleep was an all-encompassing desire now. His cane carried him to the opposite side of the office and he stumbled in the darkness to find his bed. He could not find the energy to even close the door. The cane slipped from his fingers somewhere in the darkness and he left it, reaching the edge of the bed and collapsing atop it. He was asleep even before he could properly decide whether to curse Qrow Branwen's wild audacity or genuinely thank him for it.

***

With temptation beckoning Qrow, he flew down to the dark entrance to Ozpin's private quarters. Transforming to his human form, the student carefully searched the doorway, then room for traps. Stealth had, thankfully, always come naturally to Qrow. Sober at any rate - which he was at the moment.

Silently the boy approached his headmaster. Peering down, he took notice the man was still wearing his glasses. Carefully - and he didn't care if it took fifteen minutes to be careful - Qrow removed Ozpin's glasses and placed them on the nightstand next to the bed.

He watched the deep rise and fall of the chest, the heavy weight of the sleeping pills somehow adding gravity to the man's body. Full lips no longer taut in distress, the boy watched in a moment of pride as they relaxed for the first time in a week. Satisfied the side effects were those of someone passed out in a near coma and not in danger of death or waking, Qrow shifted Ozpin until he was completely on the bed.

A hesitant hand reached for the scarf before removing it as well as the shoes tightly strapped to the professor's feet.

Satisfied the man would not overheat or strangle himself in his sleep, Qrow glanced around the room. How he wished to explore...but he would be murdered on the spot if he left any evidence.

Qrow’s chest matched Ozpin’s heavy fall in a regretful sigh, the boy exiting the room and punching the lock closed before he could further tempt himself. He needed to return to his room before the headmaster woke up. Ozpin was going to be furious enough if he found out Qrow had anything to do with this. He just prayed the man thought he removed his own glasses, scarf, and shoes in his foggy, heavily medicated state.

With Qrow’s luck, he had probably just performed a suicide mission.

***

Ozpin woke heavily - that is how he would describe it. The heaviness of deep sleep extended to every sense, his limbs stiff from apathy, his vision blurring slowly into focus as he struggled to lift his head from his pillow.

It was morning. Or daylight, in any case. Ozpin could remember almost nothing of the night before. He recalled Ferra leaving the office in some manner of annoyance. He languidly wondered why. He also wondered what day it was, so foggy were his thoughts. For seemed a long time he simply lay where he was, staring at the movement of his ceiling. 

A soft buzz - Ozpin automatically reached in his coat pocket for his scroll, his thoughts absently noting that he was still dressed. He glanced at the name on the scroll as he answered.

"Good morning, Ferra," he said, his voice thick with sleep. 

"Morning? _Morning?"_ came the reply, the tone one of carefully controlled rage. "IT. IS. _NOON."_

Ozpin sat upright immediately, the room threatening to move with him. He looked at his watch, but the gears had paused just past midnight, neglected their usual morning winding. 

"I've been calling you for HOURS. You didn't answer the elevator buzz. I thought you had DIED-"

"Ferra, please," Ozpin said, pinching the bridge of his nose, the beginnings of his memories seeping in. "There was an incident last night..."

The shrill voice on the other end paused. "What sort of incident?" The anger lessened, tinged now with concern. "Sir, are you all right?"

Ozpin hesitated. He could not possibly tell her the truth, that he suspected having been drugged by her least favorite student who had the secret ability to turn into a bird and the access code to Ozpin's office - willingly offered - that allowed him to do it. There was also the very important matter of the headmaster's pride...

"I may have...fainted last night." He knew admitting as much would give Professor Agrios ammunition against him in the future, but to reveal Qrow would almost certainly lead to an investigation toward him being expelled. 

It all sounded like rather a lot of paperwork.

"I'm coming up."

"That isn't necessary," Ozpin said, reaching for his glasses. "I'm quite fine now."

_"Sir -"_

"You have my word, Ferra. Are the team names finalized?"

"The...the team names? Are you actually asking about _work -"_

"Ferra. Please."

A resigned, angry snort echoed from the other side. "Yes, they're done."

"Perfect. Thank you. I'll be down in time for the ceremony."

"Can I at least call a doctor?"

Ozpin sighed. "You may. After the ceremony. Although I'm certain there is nothing amiss with me."

"Physically, maybe," cane the muttered response, concern wrapped in insult. 

Ozpin smiled into the scroll. "Thank you, Ferra. I'm sure I owe you my life."

"You do, sir. I'll see you at the ceremony."

Ozpin disconnected and put down the scroll, testing his current state. He was drowsy still - lasting effects from the drugs. He could scarcely concentrate on anything beyond the absolute fact that a student had willfully drugged him without consent. He wondered erratically if he even had a rule against such an obvious manner of misbehavior. Not to mention how, by method of deduction, Qrow had entered Ozpin's office without his knowledge and eavesdropped on a conversation - at least one conversation that Ozpin could confirm. 

Slowly, slowly, the headmaster's drowsiness began to give way to sheer indignation at his treatment. He reached once more for his scroll. A shower and fresh clothes would have him ready for the afternoon appointment he was about to make. His fingers moved rapidly over his scroll.

"Ferra, please see that Qrow Branwen is sent to my office in the next hour."

"May I ask what it's regarding?"

As the game sat now, the headmaster had several moves he could play. First and foremost he could lay all his information on the table and reveal his knowledge of Qrow's avian form.

Ozpin was certain he did not wish to do so just yet. 

Instead, he thought, checking his reflection in the mirror - admittedly less haggard after proper rest - he had a different move to make. He closed the door to his bedroom and took a seat at his desk, coffee in hand (having thoroughly checked that the machine itself was free of tampering). The chess board was set up, waiting for an opponent. 

"Oh, he may have some idea."

***

An idea was right, Ferra acknowledged. The student draining to a pasty white when she pulled him aside.

_He knew,_ the teen thought. Somehow. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._

Drafting his own eulogy in his head along the way, Qrow breathed a heavy sigh as he entered the elevator to the grand office. This private meeting, he decided for once, was one he would rather skip with the headmaster.

Ignorance might be the safest bet, he thought, and so he put on his classic smirk. The ding announcing his arrival somehow oddly resembling a death toll made Qrow’s stomach turn in unease. Bravado secure, the boy waved at the headmaster as he entered. "Hi Professor," his cheery note innocent as ever.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Branwen," Ozpin said. "Please, have a seat. You prefer to play black, do you not?" He picked up a white pawn and moved it two paces forward. 

"Your move," the professor said. 

The question was no mere question. Qrow recognized that immediately. So either it was a clue, or simply Ozpin distracted in exhaustion. 

Only the boy's eyes gave him away - darting first to the chess table, then to Ozpin. Most would write the motion off as information-gathering. 

Most would be wrong. 

Sitting, Qrow studied the table and made a thoughtful move, uncharacteristically cautiously wise. He did not dare question the color comment, or the sudden desire to challenge the student. Distraction or not, Qrow sensed there was something beneath the surface bubbling. 

Ozpin was on the offensive. He wanted Qrow to know it. And he was going to teach the boy some lesson.

"Nice day. Your move," Qrow returned, not yet dropping his cheery tone.

The headmaster made his next move quickly. "How have you been, Mr. Branwen? I regret that I have been unable to resume our private lessons immediately following the start of the year."

“No problem,” Qrow kept his response short. He wasn’t dumb enough to give the man anymore ammunition than he thought he had already.

"I have been rather busy, and I confess it has been interfering with the usual care one should give oneself. Until last night, I don't think I had slept more than an hour or two a day. Professor Agrios has been quite worried about me."

Ozpin paused, considering his next move. "I'm afraid that, in my zeal to see Beacon running as smoothly as possible, I may have been a bit careless. I care very deeply about this school, the students and faculty - so deeply that I have neglecting myself, which I fear means I have been neglecting those who care deeply for me. I think I've been a little selfish to Professor Agrios and anyone else who has spent time worried on my behalf."

The headmaster sighed, sliding a white pawn over the board. "I know that despite not having seen you the last few weeks, Qrow, you have also worried about me. For that lack of perspective, I apologize."

Qrow responded nonchalantly, "It's fine. You've been busy. I'm fine."

Qrow's focus on the game diminished. Rarely had the headmaster been so informal with the student. Never had he admitted a weakness, much less apologized for one.

Nervousness fading to stunned pleasant surprise the boy remained silent in contemplation. 

Remembering he was mid game, he mindlessly moved a black piece, thankful he had planned the move minutes before.

Finally the student spoke, "Thanks." 

He took a chance and looked the professor over - noting the man looked much healthier than the night before. 

"Are you feeling better?" he added. Ozpin didn’t have time for this chat; Qrow knew, but he still didn’t know if that was to praise or punish.

"Much better, thank you. I believe with another good night's sleep, I may be entirely recovered."

Ozpin took one of Qrow's pawns, his finger lingering on the tip of the bishop.

"What have you been up to in the past week?" the headmaster asked. "Clearly nothing against school rules, because you've avoided being sent up to my office. Or perhaps you've simply gotten better at avoiding being caught."

The student smirked to himself, unable to shield his response. 

"I thought I should keep my head down this year for now. Don't need to terrorize the school yet," he flippantly replied, still smirking. "Glad to hear you are feeling better," he added.

Refocusing, Qrow set up a trap to take the bishop the headmaster seemed so fond of. 

"Did you call me up here for a few minutes of down time?" the student questioned curiously. 

Ozpin slipped his bishop from the impending black threat on the board. 

"I suppose you could say that," the professor said. "As it was, I just happened to wake up today thinking of how I missed our little games."

Qrow's hand paused, hovering over his next move. "Me too," he added, attention returned to the game. Thankfully the headmaster seemed to have no ulterior motives other than needing a break - which the student was happy to provide given the man's destructive work habits.

Selectively, he made his next move potentially setting two traps with a strong defense. He had learned during his first year impulsive offense was hardly the way to win a game against the wise professor. Patience was definitely required.

"You've improved," the headmaster said, considering the board approvingly. "Good. I wouldn’t want this to be too easy.”

Ozpin took his time selecting his next move, recognizing the strategy the student was building. Ozpin rarely played an aggressive offense, but today Qrow's behavior was inspiring. His queen made an early appearance with motivated havoc. 

"We can resume our lessons next week," the professor said, releasing the queen with some amount of satisfaction. "I'm sure your sense of decorum - tragic as it once was - has suffered in my absence."

The student snorted responding with thick sarcasm, "Yeah, you’re single-handedly responsible for solving my social ineptitude." 

Qrow studied the board in response to the invasive queen. He could take her in two if he played it correctly. 

"What is on the agenda this year?"

"For your lessons?" The professor said, his eyes roving over the board, unconcerned with the threat to his queen. "Etiquette, of course. Your antagonistic tendencies have been reigned merely to unsubtle sarcasm. There is still much to be done in that department." 

“I think my sarcasm is pretty good.”

“So _refined_ , Mr. Branwen.”

“I learned it from you.”

Ozpin took his time again making a move, hiding a smirk by sipping his coffee unhurriedly. "If you manage to avoid being banned a second time from the dance, more advanced lessons. You did express some interest in that at our last...meeting. And should you be interested, I may have the opportunity for some extra credit, but I would require a demonstration of your combat style to determine whether you're fully qualified. We can discuss that later in the year."

Ozpin slid a rook almost lazily across the board. 

"Check," he said. 

"What?!" Qrow exclaimed incredulously. How had he missed that? _Damn it, the queen was bait..._

Qrow glared at the chess board. He could not help but make the connection of the _queen_ he had been blinded by last year.

Nevertheless, the boy evaded, if only barely. This year, he would focus on the king - that is after all, how the game is won.

"My sarcasm is staying," he growled. On this, Ozpin would have to work much harder to tone down, the boy was certain. 

Qrow cursed slumping back in his chair mulling over the last few minutes leading to his demise. 

He’d distracted Qrow. Not only with the queen but -

"What makes you so sure I am going to need the extra credit?" Qrow knew the question was stupid - he himself knew it would likely greatly help his chances of not repeating a year (especially after barely scraping by last semester) - but the boy's pride stood in the way.

"My reason for the offer of extra credit is, admittedly, partially of self-interest. I believe you have a specialized set of skills, Qrow, that would be invaluable to my needs. I was convinced of that much more suddenly that I expected. I'm afraid I can't say more than that until after I've made my decision whether to officially extend the offer."

Ozpin contemplated Qrow's retreating king. "However, the majority of the benefit is for you. This would be no small reward. Barring obvious crimes even I cannot overlook, I could offer you full exemption from expulsion from my school."

The headmaster glanced at his own increasingly exposed king, the result of his aggressive mood. No matter - he was three moves away from checkmate. He slipped his knight into position.

"Check," he said again. 

The boy weighed the words as well as his position on the board. He claimed the exposed queen with his rook making his intent to advance on the opposing king evident while narrowly escaping checkmate. Qrow was fairly certain he was about to lose, but he wasn't about to go down without a fight. 

He palmed the queen with subconscious aggression before placing it near the edge of his graveyard. 

"I couldn't be expelled? That sounds too good to be true. It must be very dangerous..." His tone was calm, steady, weighing the potentials. Crimson eyes darted up to the headmaster's, his new focus obvious. "You wouldn't offer that unless it was something you _really_ needed."

A thoughtful pause as he considered the dangers and smiled at the challenge, "I hope you extend the offer."

"Then prove yourself worth the offer," Ozpin said. He did not mourn his sacrificed queen, instead moving the last piece into place, the familiar elusive bishop caging the black king. 

"Dangerous...well." The professor gave a small shrug. "Undoubtedly. I would even go so far as to call it highly unethical to present such an offer to a student. But I lack a Huntsman of equal unique skill, and somehow I don't think you would refuse."

Ozpin sat back, surveying the board. "I'm afraid that's checkmate."

Qrow grinned without regarding the board. _'I don't think you would refuse.'_

"You’re right," the boy replied, ambiguous whether the agreement was to the game or refusal, or perhaps both.

Qrow reclined in his chair, eyes ablaze with curiosity. "How do I have to prove myself worthy to you?" the conspicuous tone hid none of the student's excitement.

"Exactly as you are now," Ozpin said. "By simply being yourself. Now," he added, rising from his seat, "if you will excuse me, we both have a ceremony to attend. I do hope you intend on welcoming the new teams introduced today."

He walked Qrow toward the elevator, which obliged by opening at their approach. 

"Good afternoon, then. Oh, and Qrow," Ozpin said, the tip of his cane holding the doors from closing, "if you ever drug my coffee again, I'll gladly handwrite the forms for your expulsion myself."

He removed his cane, smiling slightly as the doors slid closed. 

Frozen, all blood drained from Qrow's face. 

_He knew. He knew all along._

And he was going to blackmail Qrow into doing his dirty work in order to stay enrolled. 

_Shit._

***

Two full days. That is how long Qrow had been contemplating how the hell Ozpin had found out the student had drugged the professor's coffee. And two full days had yielded one result: sorcery.

Seriously. The headmaster seemed to know everything that was going on all the time. Which meant Qrow was in far deeper shit than Ozpin was letting on. Especially if he knew what Qrow did in his spare time...

Maybe his semblance was reading minds; maybe it was an all seeing eye; maybe it was a bunch of horseshit and Qrow just got caught using his _gift_.

Regardless, it seemed there was a high probability the headmaster knew the boy's semblance and that was the reason Ozpin wanted to use him.

But Qrow would be damned if he was ever going to admit what his specific skill set entailed. Ozpin was going to have to fork over proof of that knowledge first.

Qrow knew it wouldn't be long before he was sent to the headmaster's office, but he was determined to make it at least a week before he was forced into servitude. 

His lips tingled under the severity of his groan.

This was going to be a long year.


	2. In which Qrow pulls a prank on the headmaster himself and Ozpin is amused depsite himself

This was it - the moment of truth. Qrow would prove without a shadow of a doubt he was the best. Too many summer weeks had the bickering built up. Too many weeks had others suffered at their merciless hands.

This was the final test.

Both young men stripped completely naked - Taiyang shivering at a cool breeze - Qrow's muscles tightening and resisting with ease. 

The pair carefully approached and edged around each side of their target; the Ursa devating which target to attack first. Qrow knew it would strike him first. The Grimm had always gravitated to his darkened aura.

"GO!" Summer shouted from above in the trees. Both men bolted toward the Ursa with lightning speed - Qrow tagging the front while Taiyang did the same from the back, together taking off through the forest as the hungry beast roared following hot on their trail.

Qrow flew through the trees with ease, trees whipping back, the wind a shrill howl in his ears, matching the timbre of the Ursa’s rage-filled screams. Even over the adrenaline-fueled drumming of his heart, Qrow heard occasional stumbles and _ouches_ from his competitor. Nevertheless, Taiyang surprised him by keeping pace, once even shooting Qrow a sideways grin, too filled with adrenaline to feel the fear. At last the edge of the forest came into view. Qrow emerged first - turning to dance in victory.

"Ha!" was all he managed before the Grimm burst forth, pausing at the clearing to stomp, teeth clacking, jaw clenching for blood. 

“Uh, Qrow –“

Taiyang ran when the creature spied him first, the beast turning its back to Qrow. Unarmed, unclothed, the Qrow did what any good distraction would – he jumped onto the Grimm itself.

Another roar, this time anger and surprise and panic all in one dissonant note, the Grimm rising onto strong hind legs.

It was now or never, but his faith in his teammates never faltered.

"Now!" he yelled.

Summer and Raven seemed to drop from the sky, naked blades catching the light before they came down, whistling steel and Dust cut short by the Ursa’s flesh and fur. Qrow felt each strike reverberate in the Grimm’s trembling spine, his fingers clutching painfully at the fur to remain out of harm’s way.

Belly exposed, the creature was quickly dispatched. Qrow sprang away as it fell, landing on the soft grass, a flailing claw marking his arm in protest before disintegrating into black dust.

Qrow swore at the mark without any real anger; it was a scratch earned in victory. He glanced over at his former competitor, then his feet, to see significantly more damage.

"Did you step on every rock and tree branch on the way?" Qrow taunted.

"No!" proclaimed Taiyang. “It’s not my fault you can see so well. Probably part of your Were-Grimm abilities.”

“Shut the hell up,” Qrow said, but he grinned, turning his attention to Raven and Summer. “Thanks, guys.”

Raven shrugged; Qrow could tell she was amused but she would never let the others see it. She sheathed her sword without a word.

“No problem!” Summer exclaimed, her eyes pointed toward the sky, cheeks pink. “I’m glad that we’re finally learning how to act like a team!”

“Summer, my eyes are down here.”

“And so is the rest of you,” she declared.

The statement was so unflinchingly true that Qrow cracked up before he even knew why. Tai and Summer followed in suit, Summer giggling so hard she had to hold her sides, eyes streaming. Finally, even Raven’s lips twitched, her chest vibrating with a soft laughter only Qrow could hear.

Finally, Qrow thought, they were becoming a real team.

***

From his office high in the tower, Professor Ozpin sipped his coffee and watched his monitor in amusement, the center screen showing a live video feed of the outskirts of Beacon. Were this any other team's brilliant idea of training, Ozpin would have been mildly alarmed. Team STRQ, however –

"Oh dear," the headmaster said aloud, when Professor Agrios suddenly appeared on the scene. Her semblance activated with a gold flash, the underdressed students restrained where they stood. Ozpin idly watched his assistant gesture wildly, her temper apparent even without audio. Ozpin had muted the video in advance, predicting this incident to unfold precisely as it had. 

He would be subject to Ferra's lovely lecture tones soon enough.

His scroll pinged beside him. 

Sooner than later, Ozpin mused, tapping the device with a single finger. 

"Yes, Ferra?"

"I have some of _your students_ who need to see you immediately, sir.”

"Oh?" Ozpin said, his voice feigning ignorance.

"Hi, Professor!" Qrow's voice, wholly unconcerned with his current state of dress and impending disciplinary action, echoed through Ozpin's scroll.

_"Silence, Mr. Branwen,"_ Professor Agrios hissed. "Sir, I'll be sending both Mr. Branwen and Mr. Xiao Long up to your office. As soon as...they both put on pants."

"Oh dear," Ozpin said, sipping his coffee. "This sounds quite serious indeed."

"It most certainly is," came the sharp retort. Her voice lowered slightly. "Sir, if Mr. Branwen breaks one more rule, I swear I will simply send him straight to your office, no matter the hour."

"That's not a bad idea," the headmaster said. "In fact, see that you do so from here on."

"I...sir, do you mean it?" 

Ozpin bit back a chuckle at the sound of her relief. "Yes, Ferra, I do. Please see Mr. Branwen and Mr. Xiao Long up at your earliest convenience."

"I will, sir. Thank you."

Ozpin ended the call and sat back in his chair, watching Professor Agrios herd the delinquent students back into their uniforms. He chuckled aloud to himself. _This,_ he thought, _will be an interesting afternoon._

***

Bickering up until properly scolded by Professor Agrios, both young men recognized silence might be the only method of survival until they reached the headmaster's office. The Ursa was nothing compared to the unrestrained wrath of the unofficial punisher of the academy.

In the elevator, Qrow smirked to himself as the trio awaited admission to the headmaster's office - already well accustomed to entering of his own free will, he held the fact he had a private code secret as if under threat of death. Taiyang, however, had only been up to Professor Ozpin’s office once before, and he hadn’t enjoyed that at all.

He was starting to grow very concerned about his team’s habits of ending up under Ozpin’s watchful eyes.

The elevator doors opened with the relieved exhale from the blonde boy, Taiyang all too eager to be relieved of the furious woman's presence. Qrow grinned and waved, adding a cheery, "Hi, Professor."

Professor Agrios glaringly rolled her eyes ordering the boys from of the elevator: "Out!"

The students happily complied - Mr. Xiao Long fully clothed...Mr. Branwen considerably less so, in nothing more than pants.

Qrow wiggled his toes against the floor of the office, enjoying the freedom.

"How's it going?"

"Quiet, Branwen! And for heaven's sake, stop smiling."

Qrow made a face when Professor Agrios wasn't looking - all exaggerated anger/

"They're all yours, sir," Professor Agrios said, holding the elevator open for herself. "I presume you've seen the video by now."

"Yes, Ferra, I have. Thank you." 

"The very _nerve..."_ Professor Agrios' muttering continued even as the elevator slid closed.  
Ozpin waved toward the seats in front of his desk. "Have a seat, please," he said, reaching for his mug. He gave Qrow's state of dress a wry glance. "I'm inclined to ask, Mr. Branwen, if the Ursa ate the other pieces of your uniform before your team dispatched it."

"Yeah, something like that. But I think my shoes are in a tree. Grimm got my shirt and boxers though."

Taiyang opened his mouth as if to protest - he knew damn well the articles of clothing were all in the same tree he had seen Qrow toss them in. Qrow really shouldn't antagonize the Beacon staff so much. He was going to get them in so much worse trouble...

Qrow made himself at home sitting in a chair opposite that of the headmaster's.

Tai sat down on the furthest edge of his chair, knuckles pale as he closed fists on his legs.

It would be a miracle if the headmaster didn’t kick them out of the school this moment.

"I see," Ozpin said. "How very kind of it to leave your pants. And it seems Mr. Xiao Long's uniform was not to this particular Ursa's taste? Curious."

Was he joking? Was that a joke? Ozpin’s face was impossible to read; the ridiculousness of the words muted by his tone, as though he were discussing the weather.

Yep. He was gonna expel them.

"I shouldn't like to make assumptions in these sorts of matters," the headmaster continued, as though this was not the first time an incident like this had occurred, "so I will leave it to your honesty to tell me exactly who's creative mind came up with such a plan."

_No way in hell I’m going down for this._

“Qrow!” Taiyang blurted.

Qrow beamed with pride. "Tai wanted a winner-take-all contest. I figured out the details."

"Unsurprising," the headmaster remarked, his tone amused. "Of course you must know that this sort of behavior does not meet Beacon standards, so I must be firm with you. After all, the dress code is of vital importance."

Taiyang's face drained of blood immediately. This must be the end. The headmaster was going to either expel them or kill them.

Qrow smirked. That insufferable ass. _This was all his fault._

"Professor Ozpin, I –“

"Headmaster. Show some respect, Tai, or he'll have your head." 

"Headmaster Ozpin...I’m...soverysorry." The apology tumbled out all at once, Tai’s voice beginning to shake.

Qrow turned laughing eyes to Ozpin. "Same. Oops."

"Qrow!" Taiyang hissed.

He didn’t notice Ozpin raising his mug to conceal a smile.

"I'm glad to hear you're remorseful, Mr. Xiao Long," the professor said. "If the lessons at Beacon are not challenging enough so that you think it necessary to bait Ursas, I can make the appropriate adjustments in your coursework. I would prefer, however, that you do so with your clothes on."

The glint in Qrow's eyes was a blantant challenge - bring it, they said. "If you insist," he said.

Taiyang exhaled loudly. "Absolutely. If that’s what you think is best, sir.”

“Mr. Xiao Long, do you know why I put you on Team STRQ?”

“I…I thought it was random – “

“You’re an excellent student, Mr. Xiao Long. Strong grades, no issues with attendance, a capable fighter. But you’re timid in ways that would be detrimental as a Huntsman. Working with Miss Rose and Mr. and Miss Branwen will break that habit.”

Taiyang stared, his eyes wide.

“With Mr. Branwen, it might involve breaking rules as well,” Ozpin mused, “but perhaps that is a necessary evil.”

Qrow bit back another laugh. "Does that mean we get to keep our heads, Headmaster?"

Recognizing the antagonizing tone, Taiyang silenced Qrow with a glare.

Qrow mouthed silently feigning innocence _What?_

"Your heads, yes. Your leisure time, less so. A week's detention will suffice, I think, to impress the lesson on Mr. Xiao Long."

Ozpin's eyes flickered to Qrow over the frame of his glasses. "Mr. Branwen, as the mastermind of this affair, I would like to discuss the matter with you further. Mr. Xiao Long, you're dismissed. If you would be so kind as to allow Mr. Branwen to borrow a full uniform for until his is replaced, I would be most obliged." 

Taiyang stood so quickly that his chair screeched nearly falling to the floor; he winced, shooting Qrow a sympathetic look.

Qrow, however, seemed entirely too comfortable in Professor Ozpin’s presence. 

_Not my problem,_ Tai thought, pressing the elevator button too eagerly, only remembering to breathe when the doors slid closed behind him. Whatever happened to Qrow was his own damn fault.

One of these days, he’d get all of Team STRQ expelled.

***

Qrow waited for the elevator to move down several floors before turning back to Ozpin. "It wasn't really _that_ bad..."

"Qrow, if you were any other student, I would be inclined to be quite harsh. Your actions alone should be called rash, and to bring your teammates into it..."

_Shit, was he really in trouble?_

"And if you were any other student, I would have worried."

Qrow bit his lip to hide the smirk that came with the inadvertent compliment. 

The headmaster sipped his coffee, unhurried. "As amusing as I may have found your antics, you really have pushed the boundaries of what I can overlook. The wound on your arm suggests as much."

The boy glanced at his arm. "It's fine. It will heal..." Qrow protested. 

“Hmm.” Ozpin rose, motioning with one hand; Qrow raised his wounded arm to allow the headmaster to inspect it.

"Look, everyone is fine and I won't drag him into it again, okay?" 

“This time,” Ozpin said. He ran white fingers over Qrow’s skin and the student flinched.

"Tai...he just hurt his feet running. He’d do that anyway. And you know I could take care of the Ursa myself. Naked even. We were just having fun..."

"Which is why I merely allowed Ferra to intervene instead of coming myself," Ozpin said. "Because I knew you could handle it."

A soft green glow appeared beneath Ozpin’s hand, Qrow’s protests dying in his mouth. His touch now was warm, gentle, like pulling a thick blanket over Qrow’s arm. Only a moment, and then it was gone, Ozpin releasing the student and retreating back to the opposite side of the desk.

Qrow blinked, lifting up his arm to find only a thin line where the wound had been.

"Besides," the headmaster added, as though he had done nothing at all, "I had just made a fresh pot of coffee. But do keep your clothes on when you join Mr. Xiao Long in detention for the next week."

A frustrated sigh of defeat signified the student's compliance. Sure, he was getting off easy by getting the same punishment as his teammate, but…detention. 

“I trust that meets with your approval?” Ozpin said. 

_Tch._ Like he gave a shit if Qrow approved.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” Ozpin said.

Qrow restrained every temptation to groan aloud.

"Yes, _sir.”_ This next week was going to be hell.

Unless there was a way to make things more interesting…

Qrow rose and gave Ozpin a sarcastic bow; he was pushing his luck severely now but didn’t care. He relished the slight tightening of the headmaster’s lips – the subtlest sign of disapproval, but one Qrow had begun to learn in their private lessons.

Ozpin would say nothing now; he would prefer to let Qrow think he won and find some kind of torture for their lessons. Qrow would let him think he had the upper hand. For now.

_It’s on, old man._

***

A week after the Ursa incident, the headmaster stood in the back of Beacon's main arena, watching the first year teams undergo their first sparring class against one another. He could have watched the battles from the comfort of his office, with fresh coffee and a comfortable chair, but today he preferred to see them in person, to judge the tactics and reactions of the young students by his own eye. He would, of course, have to review the recordings later, to slow down the rapid movements and chaotic semblances to determine their full potential.

In truth, Professor Ozpin was bored. It was a mild sensation that had crept under his skin in the last week until he could scarcely stand to remain in front of his monitors for another moment. The fresh air helped a bit, but after the feverish rush of the first week of the academic year, relief was fleeting, replaced by the constant running of Ozpin's thoughts and little interesting work left to moderate it. With Qrow Branwen in detention and actually behaving, Ozpin's office visits had been reduced to three minor student scuffles and one incident of cheating on an exam; all minor and uninspiring school violations.

The headmaster stifled a yawn as two new teams took the arena floor. He glanced at the enormous overhead prompter to skim the names: Team LVDR and Team MSTE. Ozpin nearly sighed; neither team was particularly striking, and he resigned himself to another lackluster fight. He ought to be taking notes, at least mentally, and yet he could not rouse the interest to do so. After all, the recordings would await him in his office later.

His scroll buzzed softly in his jacket pocket. He placed his cane under one arm, reaching for the device, wondering vaguely if another student had fruitlessly challenged Qrow's role as school troublemaker. He did not recognize the number that flashed over the screen, a wholly unexpected question in the banner notification.

_What are you wearing?_

Ozpin read and reread the unknown text, feeling a faint warmth on his cheeks. Surely a wrong number, ever so unfortunate that it should reach such an illustriously coveted scroll. He glanced around the nearly empty arena stands, seeing nothing but the class far below. With another near-sigh, the professor replaced the scroll in his pocket.

The scroll buzzed again; again Ozpin pulled it from his pocket, skimming the text from the unknown number.  
_Rosy cheeks?_

The headmaster felt his flush deepen, his eyes raising over the frames of his glasses to scan the arena once more. He could neither see nor sense anyone's presence in the upper stands, and yet he was suddenly certain he was not alone. A part of him argued this could simply be a coincidental text, a wrong number sent by someone to their significant other, and yet...

He clicked the notification off but kept the scroll in his palm, waiting for the next inevitable text.  
Ozpin didn't have to wait long for the next buzz; he turned the scroll over, more than a little curious. 

_Come on, babe...something wrong?_

The headmaster stared at the text for a long moment, equal parts of him convinced this was a prank intentionally for him or simply a wrong number perplexed by the silence on the other end. He wished to ask the unknown number for their identity, but curiosity overwhelmed all else. 

The texts remained unanswered.

_What's the matter? Am I not entertaining enough for you?_

Ozpin raised an eyebrow at the text, the battle below him all but forgotten. This, whether a wrong number or prank, had at least taken his mind off his boredom. Finally unlocking the scroll, Ozpin's fingers moved on their own accord.

_Try harder,_ he typed back.

_That wasn't a complaint last night._

The professor's lips parted at the sheer guile of the text; he tried to force the renewed blush from his cheeks. He mildly regretted the choice to reply, given the inappropriate response it now elicited. He considered keeping up the farce for only a moment before instead sending off a fair warning:

_I believe you have the wrong number._

_Hardly, headmaster._

The text took Ozpin completely by surprise; he blinked in some astonishment (another quick glance at the empty seats around him), pausing to gauge his possible responses. He thought at first this had to be a faculty member's impulsive prank, for only they would have Ozpin's private number, and yet he could think of no one who would have dared such a trick. Students, perhaps, but none of them –

The headmaster sighed aloud, the realization halting all other thoughts. He tapped the keys on his scroll with some degree of resignation. 

_Mr. Branwen. My office, if you please._

_Already here, Professor._

The absolute nerve. 

Ozpin shut off the notification without responding, shoving the scroll back into his pocket and taking the cane back from under his arm. The memories from last year's final meeting with Qrow came back with whiskey-tinted accuracy, Ozpin's joking challenge to his student taken more seriously than he would have predicted.

Or perhaps he had, given his less than sober state, meant it. At the moment the headmaster was inclined to disregard that option, reaching instead for something more respectable; but as he made his way from the arena back toward the tower, even Ozpin had to admit he was suddenly less bored than he had been twenty minutes ago.

***

Qrow waited in Ozpin’s office for the prodigal headmaster to return; every nerve was alight with the success of his prank. Not only had he fooled the professor into thinking the texts from a wrong number, he was pretty sure he had even been right about making Ozpin blush.

_Legendary._

The elevator pinged its usual happy ping as it reached the topmost floor. Ozpin stepped off to find Qrow waiting on the opposite side of the office, gazing out the great windows, obscured by the shadows cast by the afternoon sunlight.

He offered Ozpin a brief nod.

“Hey, Professor.”

The risk was worth watching the multitude of emotions flicker over Ozpin’s usually unreadable face.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Branwen," he said in the quiet, ticking office. "I see you've been successful in obtaining my private number. How faithless of me to think it would take you more than two weeks to do so."

The boy shrugged and walked around the headmaster's grand desk, his fingertips tracing the edge as he rounded the corner to plop into a chair. "I got it two days ago, but wasn't sure how to let you know," he replied with a cheery smile.

Ozpin gave the student a long look before crossing the office to his own chair, as though remarking silently on Qrow's lingering fingers on his desk, the evident familiarity with the environment.

"So naturally, this was how you chose to do so," the professor said. "Shall I list the multitude of reasons why this was beyond inappropriate, or would you prefer to immediately justify your actions instead?"

"Immediately justify. You were bored. I was bored. You asked me to be your entertainment. You TOLD me to get your phone number. This was entertaining and now we aren't bored. Added bonus: no one else found out," Qrow confidently declared.

"I was working," Ozpin said, his tone sharpening. "I freely admit that I brought up this...challenge, but to send such reckless messages -" The headmaster paused, shaking his head. "I predict you to be unpredictable, Qrow, but congratulations on exceeding even my expectations. That isn't entirely a compliment," he added, before the student could offer his characteristic smirk.

The boy remained unfazed. "Mostly a compliment, then? Besides, it's not like I can do it again." Qrow nodded towards the phone in the headmaster's pocket. "You have my number now too. You would recognize it immediately." 

He pause for a playful smirk. "Unless you decide not to save it." 

"Oh, no, I think having a direct line of communication to you is an excellent idea," Ozpin said. "If anything, Ferra will consider it a personal favor if I intervene in your troublemaking before she has to. I imagine she might send me flowers in appreciation."

The headmaster paused; his face was blank but Qrow knew what it meant now. He was interested despite his own reservations. "So now that you have my number, what exactly do you intend on doing with it?"

The boy couldn't wipe the smile off of his face. Ozpin was keeping his number - which considering the headmaster's steadfast elusive nature, excited Qrow as well. This would not only fix both of their boredom problems, but also enlighten the student to Ozpin’s countless secrecies – per his sister’s demand.

Qrow shrugged, "You also told me to be me to prove my worth. So I’ll be myself - not tell you - and surprise you like you want."

"How mysterious," the headmaster remarked, "and how very like you. I do hope you won't disappoint, if I'm inclined to be as bored as you insinuate."

Qrow grinned; Ozpin was getting easier to read, the almost imperceptible bite of his lower lip a tell as he weighed the wisdom of allowing Qrow to keep his number.

“You’re bored,” Qrow announced.

“I merely think that my having a direct line of communication with you is a good idea. Ferra will appreciate it, no doubt. She may very well send me flowers. Perhaps I’ll drop hints regarding my preference for orchids…”

The boy’s smile remained; Ozpin was deflecting, but Qrow wouldn’t call him out this time.

"Is that all, _Professor_?" Qrow asked, his tone twisting the term into a loving pet name only couples used.

Ozpin sighed. “I really do lament your reliance on sarcasm, Mr. Branwen. But yes, I believe that’s all.”

Qrow bounced from his seat before Ozpin could find another lecture to give. Wiggling his fingers in a quick wave goodbye, the student queued his exit heading for the elevator. Qrow anticipated this term was going to be filled with thin lines, fire, and potentially a few burns. 

_How exciting._

The doors closed on Ozpin still seated at his desk, studying the scroll in his hands.


	3. In which Ozpin plays a game of chess with Qrow as his knight

Professor Agrios watched Professor Ozpin yawn, concealing the act with a polite hand over his mouth. He could have at least waited until after lunch to begin doing so. She glanced at the empty coffee pot, the headmaster’s mug full of little more than dark stains. She felt herself bristle. He had no reason to be yawning at her at all.

“Am I boring you, sir?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from oozing into her words, lowering her scroll.

“No,” Ozpin replied, stifling his yawn and giving his head a little shake. “Well, yes, if I am perfectly honest. But meeting minutes are never a thrilling topic.”

“I’m so glad it isn’t personal,” Ferra said dryly. 

“Of course not,” the headmaster said.

“I don’t see why you have reason to be tired. I’ve been handling your repeated absences at staff meetings, and Mr. Branwen and the rest of Team STRQ have managed to behave for the last few weeks. There hasn’t been an incident involving Ursa or building collapses in a month. I haven’t even had to give Branwen detention.”

“Ah,” Ozpin said, but the syllable sounded weary, as though she had just made a point for him. “About that…”

The headmaster’s scroll trilled, a sound Ferra was more than accustomed to. However, the tune now was altered from Ozpin’s familiar tone; she watched the subtle change in his expression.

“Excuse me,” he said, pulling the device from his coat pocket. “This…may be important.”

Ferra sighed petulantly; they were already behind schedule because Ozpin couldn’t be arsed to attend meetings _he_ had scheduled, and now he was inclined to take calls that _may_ be important – 

She tapped her foot in impatience as he listened. After a moment, he sighed quietly.

“Oh dear,” he said.

Ferra stopped tapping her foot.

“Is something wrong, sir?”

Perhaps this unfamiliar ringtone was indicative of a person of some significance, some expected news that Ozpin required at any hour it became available. Ferra was suddenly sorry that she had given him an attitude.

“Not yet,” Ozpin said, placing the scroll on the desk. It connected immediately to his computer, the monitor glowing green. He pushed a button and sat back. “You should probably hear this.”

Ferra stiffened in anticipation; she preferred to remain in some darkness involving the headmaster’s shadier endeavors, but if this was related to the school – 

"I've got all the Dust. What now?"

The voice sounded distant, but Ferra frowned at the familiarity. A boy’s voice. A boy Ferra was certain she knew.

Taiyang Xiao Long.

And where there was Taiyang Xiao Long, there was – 

"I told you, I'll take care of it. Just keep people away from the courtyard," Qrow Branwen’s voice responded.

In an instant, Ferra saw red. She opened her mouth, outraged by the conversation she was hearing, but Ozpin silenced her with an upraised hand, placing a finger to his lips.

Team STRQ didn’t know they were being monitored.

"Okay. Why the courtyard?" Xiao Long asked.

"Because that’s where the fireworks are going to be."

"Oh. Right. Got it. So what are you going to do with the Dust?"

"They _are_ the fireworks." Branwen spoke as if explaining to a toddler, all exasperation.

"But Qrow -"

"It won't blow the barrier. Probably won’t even dent the tower. Give me twenty minutes, then do it."

"But -"

"Thanks for the help, Tai."

Rustling could be heard as if the scroll carrier were running, before at last cutting to silence.

“Hum,” was all Ozpin said.

_”Hum?”_ Ferra repeated, feeling the spike in her blood pressure. “Sir, they’re obviously plotting some manner of prank uninvolving some unspecified amount of Dust – “

“Yes, Ferra, I heard it all as well.”

“And?” She looked at him, waiting for an indication of action.

“And it seems like there will be some sort of show soon.”

“Only if we don’t hunt them down first,” Ferra exclaimed. “How did you monitor their call? Can you trace it?”

“Yes, I know precisely where they are,” the headmaster said, his tone unconcerned. “But…”

“But?”

“A pocket dial of all things,” Ozpin murmured. “I expected better.”

“What on earth does that mean? You – you weren’t monitoring Branwen’s call?”

“Not officially,” Ozpin said, turning an amused expression toward her. “Do you really think my morals so low as to warrant such an invasion of privacy?”

“Then…”

“Mr. Branwen recently challenged himself to obtain my private number. He was successful.”

Ferra stared, waiting for the twitch of Ozpin’s lips to indicate he spoke in jest, but he simply eyed Ferra in return.

“You should probably check the courtyard before they set the fireworks off,” the headmaster added lightly.

She stared at him for a moment longer, certain he or she or everyone in this bloody school was going mad. Then she replaced her scroll in her pocket and headed to the elevator. It wasn’t until she reached the main hall that the full meaning of Ozpin’s explanation hit her – the lack of Team STRQ misbehavior, the sudden disappearance of Qrow from detention, the eerie quiet of students who two weeks ago challenged an Ursa in the _nude_ \- 

Ozpin had agreed to take responsibility for Qrow Branwen, and he had, in a way that resulted in the student obtaining the headmaster’s private number, and the faint circles under Ozpin’s eyes was every bit the sweet revenge Ferra had desired. The yawning, the increased dependence on coffee – Ozpin finally may have realized how much of a handful Qrow was when the student could reach him twenty-four hours a day.

“They’re meant for each other,” she mumbled to herself.

She stood at the threshold of the courtyard, looking for any sign of the two students that lived to make her miserable.

“Ah well,” Ozpin said, materializing beside her, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. 

Ferra looked up at him as he took a sip, shrugging.

“We did our best,” he said. “Perhaps we should just enjoy the show.”

Ferra opened her mouth, but the first firework interrupted, zooming into the air with a shrill whistle. It rose above the trees and exploded into red sparks, the heat of the Dust warming her face.

“Sir - !”

“I do hope the next one is green,” the headmaster remarked, as though not hearing her.

Ferra sighed, watching the next set of fireworks rise, smoke curling behind (one blue, one gold, and two green, which made Ozpin smile into his mug). Two weeks of being at Qrow Branwen’s beck and call and Ozpin still seemed to oblige the student. She wondered (another set of fireworks burst into the sky, students gathering to watch the finale), if it would take another two weeks to break the headmaster.

He chuckled from beside her as a particularly large explosion resulted in a silver serpent in the sky.

_No,_ she thought ruefully. Two weeks? It might be two years before Ozpin began to regret allowing Qrow to get away with half the nonsense he did.

“You oblige him too much, sir,” Ferra said, as the fireworks faded, leaving trails of smoke behind. Students began to applaud, certain that the headmaster’s presence meant this was a school-approved demonstration.

“Oh, I’ve had troublesome students before,” Ozpin said.

From across the courtyard, Branwen and Xiao Long emerged from the hedges, taking bows.

“Not like this,” Ferra said. “One day, you’ll look back on this moment and remember that I warned you about him.”

“Mr. Branwen! Mr. Xiao Long!” Ozpin’s voice carried easily over the clamor of the crowd; the boys paused, mid-bow, looking up sheepishly. “A word, if you please.”

He glanced down at his assistant with a smile. “If you say so, Ferra.”

Ferra sighed, stepping aside to allow the boys – far too proud of their impromptu show – to make their way to the elevator, the headmaster following with the click of his cane.

Whether two years or twenty, Ferra was stubborn enough to stick around until Ozpin admitted she was right about everything.

***

Professor Ozpin sat back with the reports sent from Ferra Agrios, sipping coffee idly. The information within them was displeasing, to say the least. He had an impending appointment with Professor Reed Lesca, the instructor for the Grimm Studies curriculum, but Ozpin had other small details to see to first. He sat back with his coffee, watching a video recording of a recent field exercise.

"You all built your weapons at Signal, or the combat school where you trained before arriving at Beacon," Professor Lesca's voice stated on the recording, his slim figure pacing in the arena before his class, "so I presume you are all very familiar with them. My job in this class is to ensure that you not only know each way your weapon works, but the opponents you will face as Huntsmen and Huntresses. Knowledge about your enemy is power, often a better weapon than the steel you hold in your hands now."

It was a good speech, Ozpin acknowledged, and one not incorrect in its subject. He increased the video's speed, watching the rapid movement of the professor as the demonstration began; Ozpin slowed it when Peter Port, the teaching assistant, came on screen, dragging a large wooden crate behind him. He approached Professor Lesca, a brief conversation in which the TA appeared to object, his arguments immediately dismissed by a wave of Lesca's hand. Ozpin skimmed the transcript of Mr. Port's interview, finding the information to match the video.

Another few minutes of fast forward, and Team IVRY took center stage, the crate opened via a remote locking mechanism –

Ozpin felt the vague dread that came with the appearance of the adolescent Deathstalkers, the legs clicking as they scurried out, freed from their dark prison, gold-capped tails raised to attack any enemy within range. The headmaster closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the ghost of the sting that still faintly marked one of his shoulders. The young ones were less toxic, less likely to result in death from a single sting, but young Deathstalkers were notorious for their aggression, fanning out in an almost organized fashion to face the team of second year Beacon students. 

He turned off the sound when the first student screamed, the ping of the elevator almost an echo.

Ozpin was not often discourteous, but the circumstances of this meeting tried every delicate fiber of his patience.

Professor Lesca sat across from the headmaster's desk, his mouth opening with a greeting.

"Good mor -"

"Tell me why I shouldn't terminate your contract right now, Reed."

Lesca flushed, his composure crumbling under Ozpin's tone.

"Sir, I...I was assured that they were not venomous..."

A flare of irritation flashed through the headmaster. "Not venomous? Reed, you're my expert in Grimm Studies. Your own TA warned you about their dangers. Did you not think the young ones had developed their venom yet, or were you simply negligent in checking yourself?"

Lesca, cowed by the barrage of the interview, fell silent. His answer hardly mattered to Ozpin; either option meant the professor had made an egregious error in judgment, and two students had been hospitalized as a result. 

"They will recover, in time," Ozpin said. "I've made arrangements with Mr. Port to help them with their physical therapy once they are released. In the meantime, Reed, I expect you to submit all your lesson plans to me personally, one week before class, for my review and suggestions."

"All of them...?" the professor asked. "For how long?"

"As long as I determine it necessary."

"...yes, sir."

"That will be all, Reed. I expect to have next week's lesson plans sent to me by this evening."

"Yes, sir."

Ozpin turned his chair away from his desk to face the window, listening to the quiet _ping_ of the elevator that indicated Lesca's exit. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. 

The headmaster’s fingers danced across his scroll, dialing his reassurance.

Qrow picked up on the first ring.

"Qrow,I have a favor to ask of you."

"Name it, Teach," came the casual reply.

"I need you to monitor Professor Lesca when I am unable to do so myself," the headmaster said. “I presume you have heard of the incident from the rumor mills by now?”

“Yeah, it’s all anyone’s talking about.”

"Then it will not be surprise you to learn I have him under review. I know him well and he may not respond to some new restrictions with grace. He may feel inclined to prove himself. Should something - anything - like this happen again, I want to be informed immediately. You may rely on Peter Port as an ally; he has also agreed to be my confidante."

“Got it.”

Ozpin sighed, reaching for his coffee, his stern mood waning in favor of weariness. 

"I hired Reed because of his unconventional methods. He has always pushed what he considers the limits of modern education, and I allowed it because we saw direct results." Another sigh, this one heavier. "This is as much my responsibility as his; therefore I will do whatever is necessary to prevent another incident."

"Understood," the student replied.

Ozpin had trusted him with many secrets, but a patrol of his own...this was new. This was dangerous. Ozpin knew Qrow would revel in the idea of spying on a professor; Ozpin disliked the use of stealth, but after so many years, it was default. 

_Never show your hand until you had won._

"Thank you, Qrow. I need not remind you that under no circumstances must Professor Lesca suspect your involvement, nor that a word of this should be mentioned to another person.”

“It’s our secret.”

 

A pause, a sip of coffee, a hint of a smile. 

"Perhaps it would not be remiss for you to remind Professor Lesca of your...questionable behavior toward authority. It could be done, oh, say, with an extra prank or crude remark during his class."

The youth’s smirk was audible over the scroll.

"It might look dangerous...for him," he warned.

"The less I know, the better," the headmaster said. "Do be responsible with your irresponsibility, however."

Qrow laughed. "Will do."

Ozpin disconnected and placed the scroll on his desk, thinking. He could hear the shrill lecture Professor Agrios would offer him if she had any idea of his newest spy. Perhaps it was best that she never wanted details of his less moral decisions, of how often he had students and TAs and professors alike as players on his chess board.

_A necessary evil,_ he told himself, a saying he repeated internally too often, one he disbelieved as much as he believed it.

***

It wasn't until a week had passed that the Qrow found the perfect opportunity - an exercise in the Emerald Forest outside the Beacon walls. The lesson today: how to lure Grimm.

Sad to say, the student's mood had steadily improved since his first year so he was no longer the immediate beacon himself; however, he still knew how to stir the pot just fine without much trouble. In fact, today Professor Lesca had set the perfect scene himself insisting that each student should carry a bag full of bait to the designated clearing.

Of course, the idiot had neglected to check the monitors ahead of time which would have told him a pack of Beowolves were crossing the territory minutes before the class left for their lesson.

Qrow had long ago decided not to leave things to fate seeing as she was a bitch and liked to give it to you hard - no. Qrow wouldn't risk the class as the professor would have. Instead, the student had disappeared for thirty minutes without notice, a time during which he lead the pack a safe distance away, allowing approximately fifteen minutes before they would be able to reach the class again.

Plenty of time.

Qrow signaled to his team to drop their bags in the clearing in a pile.

"This is bullshit, Lesca. Why are you making us do _your_ dirty work? You're supposed to prep the field before we get out here, aren't you?"

“Qrow!” Tai hissed.

"Mr. Branwen. So good of you to join us again. I already marked you for detention for missing today's lecture. Be sure to see the headmaster after this lesson. And you will be today's lab rat for our exercise." 

_Well, at least the professor kept his disapproval subtle._

"Now, the point, Mr. Branwen, is to lure the Grimm from a great distance. As they approach one by one, you dispatch of them. It is a fundamental tactic all Huntsmen must learn in order to successfully clear the area surrounding a village beyond civilization."

_Beyond civilization._ The moron wouldn't last two seconds. 

"Now, everyone, pile your sacks. We must create the trap around the bait."

"Shouldn't you make the trap before setting the bait?" Summer spoke up, her voice laced with concern.

"Why yes, Ms. Rose. Under normal circumstances, that would be the case, however, in this instance we are a large group so the Grimm are less likely to attack for their own safety. They will not disturb us for some time...when the lure of the bait is too great it overwhelms their senses!" His voice rose to a climax, his gestures grandiose.

The rest of the class applauded politely, some eagerly nodding. Lesca was popular, sure, but Peter Port was just as over-the-top in his lectures but actually _taught_ shit.

As if reading Qrow’s mind, Port met his eyes, chewing on a lip beneath his thick brown mustache. Qrow could read the TA’s nerves, knowing that Qrow had something planned. He looked away quickly.

Taiyang glanced anxiously at Raven, who seemed wholly unconcerned. Summer in turn looked to Qrow, a pleading look trusting he knew what was about to go down. All of them seemed to know something was wrong.

Qrow soothed them with a small nod.

"Mr. Branwen, if you would please. Step forward and demonstrate how to set the classic Mistral Trader's Trap."

Qrow rolled his eyes. A trap for one Grimm. "No."

"What do you mean, 'No?'" the professor asked incredulously.

"You heard me. We are going to have a hell of a lot more than one Grimm on our asses in less than ten minutes. So - no."

The professor laughed at the student's assumption. "Then what, pray tell, would you suggest?"

"First we have to lure them properly."

"Right."

"Distress and negative feelings help."

"Correct again," the professor eyed the student, suspicious of where the conversation was headed.

"Like this." 

In an instant, the professor fell backwards into the thick viscous pile of bait laid by the class, Qrow inordinately pleased to have followed his impulse.

“Oh shit, Qrow,” Taiyang said, turning pale.

The entire class went silent, all eyes turning to Qrow.

“Uh, Mr. Branwen…” Port began, looking down at where Professor Lesca struggled in the firm, sticky grip of the bait.

He was going to be stuck for a very long time.

The whole class erupted into a full spectrum of emotion ranging from shock to panic to laughter. Lesca shouted colorful curses from every region of the world. 

At least he was well traveled, Qrow thought.

The student approached the TA, Port’s mouth gaping at the student's irrational, irresponsible behavior. "Branwen!" he hissed.

Qrow spoke only loud enough for Port to hear. "We've got a pack of sixteen Beowolves about to jump us in less than five minutes. I've set up a dust parameter. Ice to the north, Gravity to the east, Fire to the west, Wind and Lightning to the south. They'll be coming from the southwest. Should trip a Dust storm. Be ready."

Summer chimed in behind Qrow having snuck up on their conversation, "Surrounding units from the North or East will be frozen or glued to the ground. Send weakest teams there. Our team and team ONYX will focus on the storm."

Port nodded, the wave of information both alarming, but reassuring. "Professor Lesca will be disposed. I will cover all units from the center and protect him." 

“Ozpin was right to trust you,” Qrow mumbled.

Port slung his weapon from his shoulder, cocking it loudly. “I could say the same of you,” he said, and grinned.

***

Ferra Agrios skimmed the extensive to-do list on her scroll, naming aloud the tasks waiting for the headmaster's action.

"I've sent you the minutes from Monday's faculty meeting, since you failed to grace us with your presence," she said, reaching the bottom of her list, "and I've forwarded the first of the entrance applications for the fall."

Professor Ozpin made a noncommittal _mhmm_ , his eyes on his monitors.

"Reed Lesca wasn't at the meeting either."

"No, he was with me."

"Oh?" Ferra paused, looking up. She was no friend of Lesca's, the pompous ass. She was almost satisfied his reckless teaching style ended in disaster, if not for the unfortunate students he took down with him. 

"I've placed him on probation."

Ferra blinked. "For how long?"

Ozpin sipped his coffee, still preoccupied with his monitors. "As long as it takes."

It almost sounded like the headmaster was waiting for a chance to fire the professor. Not that Ferra disagreed with the decision. She wanted to fire him the moment she saw the students in the hospital wing, but it wasn't her choice, and Ozpin always believed in second chances.

She sighed and followed his gaze up to his screens, where security footage showed a class of students outside the academy grounds.

Ozpin reached up and touched a monitor, the video feed zooming in –

"Are those _Beowolves_?" Ferra asked, aghast, rising from her seat.

"Oh dear," he said into his coffee, wholly unconcerned. 

"Sir, there's at least a dozen of them –

"Sixteen, by my count," Ozpin said, putting down his coffee, only to type a brief message on his scroll.

"Should we not intervene?"

"I already have," the headmaster said, tilting the camera to the students, where Qrow Branwen stood beside Peter Port. "There," he added, as both men checked their scrolls. 

A light _ping_ , and Ozpin glanced down at his own device. 

"Mr. Branwen assures me it is under control."

Ferra stared. "Sir..."

"It's fine, Ferra. Please, sit down. Have some coffee. Enjoy the show."

"Sir, this is outrageously irresponsible," she said, sitting nonetheless.

Ozpin gave a brief shrug, a hint of a smile. "After so many years, Ferra, one might think you would expect it from me.”

***

Back on the field, the traps sprung as planned - eight of the Beowolves caught in the lightning storm, six of which were caught in a tornado. Two more tripped the fire which ate at the fuel of the tornado creating a large fire storm.

Teams STRQ and ONYX eliminated the flaming enemies charging for them, then snipped the storm ridden stragglers.

The remaining six were an easy pick - four frozen in ice and two caving under their own weight.

The whole ordeal was over in less than fifteen minutes.

"Branwen, that was a good ca-" Port began, only to be cut off.

_”BRANWEN!”_

Lesca had managed to free himself.

_Fuck._

Well, at least he hadn’t gotten in Qrow’s way until now.

"We are going to the headmaster's office this instant! You put the lives of the _entire_ class at risk, and I am going ensure he receives a full report!"

"Gladly," the student replied, approaching the bait to examine the potency. "Port?"

"I will evacuate the substance. All students, please - "

Again Lesca interrupted.

"All students return to class. Homework - please write an essay describing how today's events could have been prevented," Lesca seethed, glaring at Qrow. The professor straightened his sticky suit and ran fingers through his hair in a pathetic attempt of respectability.

Qrow grinned. He wasn’t worried at all; he was the headmaster’s spy, after all. Lesca could suck on that. "You sure you don't want a shower first? That bait smells like rotten fish. Don't want the headmaster seeing you in such a disgraceful, sorry - pitiful - state." 

_Bingo, scarlet._

The professor, now matching the exact ruddy hue of Port's jacket, screeched, "MARCH!"

Qrow shrugged and obeyed, offering a smug wave at his team as he left.

***

"Oh dear," Ozpin remarked, listening to the faint voices on the video feed, the raised tones of Lesca echoing over the shuffle of students. "I do believe we're going to have guests."

Ferra sighed. It was always _something_ at this academy. "I'll put a fresh pot of coffee on."

"What a delightful idea," the headmaster said, his eyes following the procession toward his office. 

Ferra watched the coffee pot bubble to life, walking back to Ozpin, peering at the scroll in his hands. 

_Mr. Port, well done. My thanks for your cooperation._

"Just how many spies do you have working for you?" she asked. 

"They're hardly that," Ozpin said, sending off the text. "They're merely...friends in unusual places."

Ferra snorted. 

"And really, Ferra, would you expect a general to list his spies when questioned by the enemy?"

"Am I the enemy, sir?"

"You're the disapproving senate that bars my better strategies and cuts my budget."

"I let you throw students off of cliffs every year," she said, as Ozpin pressed the button to allow elevator access.  
The headmaster glanced up at her, his smile innocent and yet wholly smug.

"Oh, come now, Ferra. You enjoy that even more than I do."

She didn't answer, but the twinkle in his eye said she didn't need to.

"Remind me," the headmaster said, "to have the cleaning staff come up after this meeting. Somehow I think it will be necessary."

The _ping_ of the elevator heralded the arrival of professor and student, Lesca marching into the office with all the authority he presumed to have, significantly less effective for the remarkable stench coming off of him.

"Oh good lord -" Ferra turned away, covering her nose with her hand. Beside her, Ozpin kept politely neutral, but his coffee rose and hovered beneath his lips.

"Good afternoon, Reed," he said. "Mr. Branwen. Please, take a seat. Well - Reed, perhaps it's best if you stand. Now, why don't you tell me why you're here."

Both professor and student began at once, Lesca shooting Qrow a glare of absolute malice. 

Ozpin held up a hand for silence, which fell quickly. "One at a time, if you please. Mr. Branwen, why don't you start?"

"Professor Lesca is a moron, Sir," the student reported. His lips were smiling, but the eye contact the boy made with Ozpin was serious.

"Branwen!" Lesca hissed, once again the scarlet hue he had reached earlier.

Qrow cut him off adding in a sudden matter-of-fact tone, "The good professor here neglected to check the monitors before we left carrying the bait on our backs. There was a pack of Beowolves that would have eaten us alive if the traps weren't already set. The traps weren't already set."

"You weren't even in class to know what preparations I had made! The traps didn't need to be set, Branwen, as I explained earlier, because they would not have attacked us as a group like they did without the bait in a _pile._ They wouldn't have been able to track such small individual amounts from ten minutes away!"

"They were ten minutes away because I lead them there. Before that they were ten _feet_ from the site. They were juveniles, not adults. It would have been an ambush." Qrow turned his gaze from Lesca to Ozpin, over exaggerating the courtesy, "Sir."

Lesca snorted. "There is no possible way, Mr. Branwen, that in the twenty or thirty minutes you were gone you were able to leave campus, set the traps, and lead the Grimm supposedly at least...ten minutes away? Not to mention a mere student would hardly be able to outrun a pack of Grimm that can run forty miles an hour when stimulated. Your logic collapses. In fact..." Lesca, agitated by his own defense, began pacing side to side, slopping bait across the floor as he swung his arms on each turn. 

Ferra watched Ozpin’s expression softly lament the state of his once-polished office floors.

"I'm willing to bet you set the traps because you corralled them in the first place. There was no pack. You created a mob," Lesca finished.

Qrow rolled his eyes from Lesca to Ozpin, awaiting further direction…or permission to tear the asshole a new one.

Ferra's eyes darted from Branwen to Lesca, then to Ozpin, who seemed more preoccupied with his floors than at the pissing match in his office. Not to mention the glaring disrespect the student offered; Ferra may have shared Branwen's opinion that Lesca was a moron, but she never dreamed of saying so aloud. 

To his face, anyway.

"I'm afraid, Reed, that I have confirmation of Mr. Branwen’s story," the headmaster said, taking advantage of the pause in the argument.

“From who? Other students? Because I’m sure Branwen’s friends would be happy to take his side – “

“From your own teaching assistant.”

Lesca fell silent, considering this information.

"The fact is, Reed, that your submitted lesson plan mentions having traps in place to protect your students. The traps were not set in advance, and according to the deliberate wording of your lesson plan, you haven't _technically_ violated your probation contract."

Ozpin took a long sip of coffee; Ferra understood the pause to be a power play, a subtle method of making Lesca wait to hear his sentence. The professor fidgeted accordingly.

"The hypocrisy of my position," the headmaster continued into the tense silence, "is that I respect students for searching for technicalities. It expands their opportunities as Huntsmen, encourages them to think in a nonlinear manner. It's a healthy, safe challenge of authority that prevents them from growing into adults that listen to any voice of command."

Another deliberate sip of coffee.

"The hypocrisy, Reed, is that I demand the absolute opposite from my faculty."

Ferra saw Lesca tense, his throat tightening. 

"All of my rules, as flighty as they may appear, are the carefully constructed boundaries of student safety. I presume that all my teachers are clever and experts in their field; I would not hire them otherwise. To prove your authority in the classroom to your students in a way that directly or indirectly causes injury is not only unnecessary, it is reckless. Selfish. Shallow-minded."

Lesca flinched at each word.

"Mr. Port will be resuming your class for the next week," Ozpin said, his voice indicating a final judgment. "He has your submitted lesson plans and will be taking them into consideration according to their safety protocol. In the meantime, you will take a week's leave to redesign your curriculum according to the standardized Beacon regulations, with explicit notes as to how they conform to my expectations. I expect it in my inbox by next Sunday before midnight so that I may properly review the status of your position at my school. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

Silence. 

Lesca had gone from red to white. He nodded wordlessly.

Ozpin smiled. "Wonderful. You're dismissed, Reed. Might I recommend a hot bath and perhaps a soothing cup of tea."

"Yes, sir," the professor murmured, not waiting another moment before turning toward the elevator, eager to be gone. 

Ozpin sipped his coffee nonchalantly as the doors closed behind Lesca. 

"Well," he said lightly, "I think that went well."

For once, the student was not grinning at his handiwork, but glaring at the professor exiting the office. His body language shifted from lax to tense as he turned to Ozpin. "That do?" Qrow's displeasure at the man's existence permeated the air.

"That was perfection. Thank you, Mr. Branwen."

“Can I ask something?”

“If it is in my power to answer,” Ozpin said, “I would be happy.”

“Well. I mean, you were lying about having Port’s story match mine, weren’t you?”

Ferra looked at Ozpin, who hid a tiny smile behind his mug. 

“Why ever would you suspect that, Mr. Branwen?”

“He’s still with the class. He couldn’t have given you a briefing that quickly. So how’d you know? Security video?”

There was a subtle note of concern in the question, as though Qrow was trying to wheedle information from Ozpin.

“No, even my eyes do not reach as far as the Emerald Forest. Between your word and Professor Lesca’s word,” the headmaster said slowly, “I confess I am inclined to trust yours.”

Qrow fell silent, absorbing Ozpin’s words. The moment stretched on, as though they could speak without words.

_Thick as thieves. Gods, help us all._

Ferra sighed, loud enough to earn both men's attention. "Sir, if you wanted to fire Reed, why don't you directly instead of these ridiculous games?"

Ozpin raised his eyebrows, a smiling forming on his lips. "Why, Ferra, do you think I planned this?"

"I can't imagine what you want me to say, sir."

"I didn't _plan_ \- I planned _for_. You disagree with my giving Reed a second chance, but I never said that second chance came without stipulations. I had Mr. Branwen and Mr. Port provide me with information relevant to Reed's probationary terms."

"Bit shady," she muttered. 

"Ah, I would call it precautionary," the headmaster said with a shrug.

"Reed won't use such kind terms in the faculty lounge, sir."

"I wouldn't expect him to," Ozpin said, his tone growing light. "But then again, _leonum non refert quid oves censeant._ "

Another sigh; Ferra couldn't keep up with his nonsensical Latin quips, and she didn't have the energy to try. 

"Qrow, if you're not busy," Ozpin said, rising, "I think we have both earned ourselves a congratulatory lunch. Allow me to treat. Ferra, do lock up when you leave."

So saying, the headmaster strolled toward the elevator, his favorite troublemaking student in tow, leaving Ferra yet again to clean up the mess left in their wake. 

She wrinkled her nose at the smell that lingered in the office. 

At least they usually had the decency not to make it a _literal_ mess, she thought ruefully, and reached for her scroll to contact cleaning services.


	4. In which Ozpin regrets taking Qrow to lunch and Team STRQ begins to find themselves

The Sacred Grounds stood at the corner of a sleepy crossroads in the city of Vale, a little café not often busy, the quaint shop a little too far from the city’s foot traffic, a little too… _little_ to be noticed. 

The owner, however, hardly cared about such things.

Coal Cheswick had opened the shop after an early retirement from a tedious accounting position that had paid well monetarily but not emotionally, using his savings to slap fresh paint on abandoned walls and import coffee from all corners of the world. 

His accounting sense lectured him from the back of his mind that a year into his new business and he was bleeding money, and yet he had never been happier than walking into his café every morning at four o’clock to roll up his sleeves and knead the dough that became the day’s baked goods, to grind the beans that would help keep Vale awake.

Well. If Vale bothered to show up.

Another uneventful morning suggested there was little point in changing the breakfast menu to the lunch specials, and yet Coal did regardless, humming while his only employee, Susan, washed the baking trays.

Both looked up in surprise when the bell tinged softly just after noon.

Their customer was a stranger, a silver-haired man in tinted glasses and an expensive suit, an emerald green scarf at his throat and a worn clockwork cane in hand. Bright eyes surveyed the café with approval, meeting Coal’s gaze with a friendly nod.

“I think this will do,” he said, his voice soft and worn like the pages of an old book. “Don’t you, Qrow?”

The man stepped inside and another young man – teenager – followed on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets, slouching as his looked around, his expression unimpressed. 

“Sure,” he said.

The older man glanced down at his surly companion. “Qrow.”

The boy sighed, straightening his back. “This is fine, Professor.”

The older man paused, considering this response, and then shrugged. “Close enough,” he said with a small smile.

Coal felt an elbow in his ribs and looked down at his barista.

“You’re staring,” she mouthed silently.

Coal flushed and cleared his throat for no reason beyond his own discomfort at being caught, wiping his already-clean hands on his apron. 

He didn’t believe in love at first sight, but the strange professor in his café might be as close as it got.

“Good afternoon,” Coal said, trying to force his smile to look natural. “Your first time here?”

“Yes,” the silver-haired man said. “Such a lovely shop, hidden away so well. It seems like a place I should like very well.”

Heat crept up Coal’s collar. 

“Oh. Thank you. I – if you have any questions regarding the menu, I’d be happy. To answer them, I mean.”

He could hear Susan snort from behind him and made a mental note to lecture her about it later.

“Thank you, Mr…?”

“Cheswick. Coal Cheswick.”

“Mr. Cheswick.” His name on the stranger’s lips was warm, sunlight through amber. “I’m Professor Ozpin, and this is Qrow Branwen, one of my students. Qrow, feel free to order anything you’d like.”

_Professor Ozpin._

Of course Coal knew the name; everyone in Vale did. But the name was only that, a name without a face, a name attached only to a heavy reputation of distinction and elevation. The warm eyes and easy smile did not fit the preconceptions Coal had carried without knowing.

A great name attached to a very nice face.

All the easier to make a fool of himself.

“Can I order off the menu?” the student asked, peering at the letters with a sharp red gaze.

“Qrow,” Ozpin said sternly.

“It’s not a problem,” Coal said quickly. 

The professor considered this, conceding with a brief nod. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Sweet,” Qrow said. “I get the horseradish roast beef… the grilled chicken club and the spicy meatball. Just put all of that on one sandwich. With a side of French onion Ruben dip.”

The expression on Ozpin’s face was nothing short of pained.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Coal said, jotting down the order on his pad.

“We really must talk about your palette,” Ozpin murmured to his student.

“And for you, Professor?”

“Oh. Well, I absolutely must have a cup of your Vacuo light roast. It’s so difficult to find in Vale.”

“Anything else?”

“No, I don’t think – “

Qrow Branwen cleared his throat with obvious volume. Ozpin paused, giving the student a critical eye. Then he gave a short sigh.

“And a chocolate croissant.”

Qrow cleared his throat even louder.

Ozpin met his gaze for a long moment, as though challenging his student to speak.

“Agrios will give me detention if I let you skip lunch,” Qrow said.

“You wouldn’t tell her.”

Qrow raised an eyebrow. “But if she finds out, I’m not taking a fall for you.”

Ozpin’s lips turned downward, almost imperceptive.

Another pause while professor and student stared each other down, and then – 

“And a caprese sandwich,” Ozpin said. 

Qrow relaxed his shoulders with a satisfied air, wandering off to plop down at a corner booth.

“Make it two chocolate croissants,” Ozpin murmured.

Coal chuckled. So the illustrious headmaster of Beacon Academy had a sweet tooth. 

_Adorable._

“Coming right up,” he said.

“Thank you very much – Qrow, please return that silverware.”

From the corner, Qrow sighed, removing utensils from his sleeves and putting them back on the table. Ozpin smiled at Coal as though this sort of thing happened regularly.

“I think I may have to make this place a habit,” he said.

Coal could only splutter a response of little meaning, accepting the headmaster’s payment with a bow to obscure his reddening face. He hid behind the tall cannisters of coffee beans, closing his eyes.

“Smooth,” Susan whispered, snatching the order pad from his fingers.

Coal didn’t say a word – what defense did he have, after all? – and simply took a long breath before rising to brew the coffee and place two chocolate croissants in a pastry box. He hesitated before the display, impulsively placing a strawberry cream cheese danish in the box. A small token of appreciation.

Of more than one kind of appreciation.

Susan noticed and raised her eyebrows but said nothing, squinting at the order pad while she reached for the meatballs, a moment’s pause before slapping them on top of the grilled chicken club she had just prepared. At least the student’s lunch order had distracted her from any more undue sarcasm.

Susan placed both sandwiches on a tray, moving to pick it up when Coal added the cup of coffee and pastry box, but the owner put a hand on her wrist. She rolled her eyes but allowed him to take it, as though at peace with his repeated attempts to make himself look stupid.

“Thank you, Mr. Cheswick,” Professor Ozpin said with a gentle smile, while his student eyed the lunch tray like a predator.

“Please, call me Coal.”

The headmaster smiled again and Coal retreated before he opened his mouth and ruined the moment. He slipped behind the counter again and crouched below it, letting out a long breath.

“You’re hopeless,” Susan murmured.

The remainder of the lunch went well, Coal sending Susan to deliver napkins when Qrow Branwen ended up with more sandwich on his face and hands than in his mouth (Ozpin just sighed quietly, repeatedly, during this incident), the headmaster drinking three cups of coffee before his student cleared his throat with determination (after which Ozpin regretfully declined more).

Ozpin stopped by the counter as they made their exit, inquiring whether the shop was usually busy on Sunday mornings.

“Not really,” Coal admitted. “We get most of our business weekday mornings.”

“Excellent,” Professor Ozpin said. “Then I imagine I will see you Sunday morning.”

Coal didn’t trust himself to speak until both men had left, sighing dramatically as he leaned against the counter.

“So,” Susan said, putting the dishes into the sink. “When are you have the guts to ask him out?”

Coal sighed again.

“Maybe in…two years?” he said.

Susan just rolled her eyes and turned on the hot water.

***

On a typical morning – overcast, an unremarkable Thursday – consisting of a brief faculty meeting, paperwork and signatures, authorizations and learning objectives, coffee grown cold.

Professor Ozpin met with Professor Agrios to confirm his next week’s schedule, the usual sort of professional back and forth ( _yes to that appointment, no could you move that one back_ ), emails sent and received as Ozpin listened with a trained ear, his attention both split and focused.

The email came from an unknown address. Ozpin set his computer to scan it without thinking; he received emails from unknown addresses frequently, from old colleagues and students, contacts reaching out for reasons both academic and professional.

He did not expect personal friends to contact him.

He had none, after all.

The email was signed by Jett Prichard, a student six years graduated, professional Huntsman.

Professional spy for Ozpin.

Ferra glanced up when Ozpin did not reply to her question, her gold eyes roving over the green-glowing monitors. Her lips set in understanding.

“Should I go?” she asked.

“If you wish to remain ignorant,” Ozpin said, scanning the video attachment. He did not expect to find error with it; it was common practice for his spies to use proxy servers and undisclosed IP addresses. Still, caution in all things. “I would not judge you for it.”

“If it’s brief, I would like to stay and schedule this appointment with Professor Lionheart.”

“Then stay,” Ozpin said, and clicked the video.

The camera came into frame slowly; it was night, or evening, Prichard’s face blurred as he moved further away. Ozpin could hardly make out any details, but that alone was not cause for concern; safety came with secrets.

And yet…

“This is wrong,” he heard himself say, as though far away. He felt Ferra look at him, her face whipping back to the screen.

Prichard’s movements were erratic, like a puppet pulled by strings. The light grew as he moved away from the camera, arms too stiff, neck lolling. A thin dribble of blood inched down from stained lips.

“Sir –!“

Ozpin held up a hand and Ferra closed her mouth. On camera, two dark figures appeared, each holding Prichard’s body upright. The Huntsman’s eyes were concealed by the limp angle of his head and black hair; even so, Ozpin knew he was dead.

“Good evening, Professor Ozpin,” came a low, feminine voice, dripping poisoned honey. “Your spy brought his report, but he’s a little…”

A girlish laugh echoed over the video.

“He’s a little _dead.”_ Without ceremony, Prichard’s body dropped, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

From beside him, Ozpin felt rather than saw Ferra put her hand over her mouth.

The dark figures never resolved, keeping their backs to the light. The speaker crept forward, her movements dark blurs. 

_”Salem sends her regards,”_ she hissed.

The video went dead.

Ozpin watched the black screen for a moment more and then closed his eyes, willing his lungs to move once more. He stood and pulled up the email details. Proxy or not, he would have any details as to the location that he could find –

“Sir.”

Ferra’s voice was a broken whisper.

He paused, looking back at her.

“Sir.” She was white, her eyes too large in her face. 

“I’m sorry that you had to see that,” Ozpin said, reluctantly minimizing the window. Time was of the essence now, but he would not suffer Ferra to witness more than she already had. He felt his stomach turn and let out a long breath, shaky even to his own ears.

“If…if you are up to it,” he said softly, “please send me the information on Mr. Prichard’s surviving family. I will make the notification myself.”

“If you need me to clear your schedule –“

“I’m afraid I do not have the time to give it in person,” Ozpin said.

“Sir…”

“Ferra, please.”

“Sir, he…he _died_ for you.”

“He died for his cause!” Ozpin said, his voice sharp. “If I had to take time to visit every grieving family, I…I…” His words fled now, scared off by what he meant to say.

_Every grieving family I can’t bear to face._

Ferra turned tear-rimmed eyes on him, nodding. “I understand, sir. I’ll send you the information right away.”

“…thank you, Ferra.” He did not dare himself to say more, falling into silence as she hurried off. 

She said she understood, but he knew she didn’t. She knew this was inevitable, but she didn’t know why. If he could, Ozpin would take the place of every fallen Huntsman who had done so in Ozpin’s name. 

But what good would it do?

Salem had killed Ozpin before, again and again and again. 

What did it change?

No amount of personal sacrifice would stop her. No, Ozpin was the only person who could stop her, but it had to be from behind the curtain, clad in secrets and surrounded by spies. 

Ozpin reached up to open the email again. He would watch the video a dozen times or more, until he knew every secret it held, until he felt every injury Prichard had suffered, until it haunted his dreams.

It would join the nightmares of all his fallen Hunstmen, in the library of horrors he kept to himself.

He didn’t hear the buzz of his elevator at first; it coincided with the dark, girlish giggle of a faceless murderer. The second time he looked up, seeing the light above the elevator flicker to confirm his hearing. With some effort, he roused himself from dark daydreams, pushing the comline.

“Yes?” 

Another click and the elevator security camera feed obscured his crimes. Summer Rose looked up, grinning into the camera, silver eyes crinkling when she smiled. 

“Good afternoon, Professor! I’m here for my lesson.”

Ozpin’s throat tightened until he couldn’t breathe. He forced a deep breath, eyes stinging.

_How many bodies?_

“Professor?”

He pushed the comline with a shaky hand. “Yes, Miss Rose. Right on time. Please, come up.”

The comline died with a sting of static and Ozpin turned off the monitors; the reflections vanishing from his glass desktop.

He seized his cane from beside his chair and gave it a twirl in his hand. 

_Is this the right thing to do?_

Ferra had asked him that, so many years ago.

_I don’t know. I never know. I just…have to keep trying._

Another attempt, another name of a hero who could never be celebrated.

The elevator pinged – too cheerful – Summer Rose stepping off with a warm smile, the smile of someone young, someone who still loved the world.

_How many grieving families?_

“We’ll be going to the basement today,” Ozpin said.

Summer’s smile faltered. “To…train?”

“If you do not object. I would like to see what you can do.”

“Against you?” She blinked, then nodded, her expression determined. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

_How many more will I have to kill, Ozpin? How many more students? You can’t save them all._

“That’s all I can ask of you,” Ozpin said quietly.

_I have to try._

***

“What do you think Summer’s doing with the headmaster?” Taiyang asked. He tossed a ball into the air from where he lay on his back on his dorm bed, catching it and glancing at Raven for the hundredth time that afternoon.

Raven ignored the look and its meaning, polishing her sword and remaining silent.

“Who knows?” Qrow said from his bunk, homework on his lap. 

“Think it’s the same thing as you?” Tai pressed.

Qrow’s pencil paused over his notes, red eyes flickering up – first to Taiyang, and then to Raven. The ploy was transparent, as all things about Taiyang were, and Qrow wouldn’t fall for it so easily.

“Yeah, maybe,” Qrow said, “if she needs to know which fork goes with what meal, or how to dance.”

“Is that _really_ all you do with Professor Ozpin?” Taiyang asked, catching the ball and sitting up. “I mean…he’s like, a famous Huntsman. He’s way too busy to give _dancing_ lessons to students raised by Grimm.”

“Fuck you,” Qrow said, eyes back on his homework. 

“It’s just…weird,” Tai continued. Thinking out loud, Raven mused, because there wasn’t enough capacity in his brain. “I was with Summer when we first met Ozpin, you know. Said some weird things.”

“He always says weird things,” Qrow said.

“What kind of things did he say?” Raven said.

Taiyang gave a start as though shocked by her voice. He blushed, stammering.

“H-he came up to Summer and called her by name, like he already knew her. Then he said, ‘You have silver eyes.’”

“Silver eyes?” Raven repeated. “What’s the importance of that?”

“Dunno. He just gave her a little smile and walked away. He’s a weird guy.”

“Told you,” Qrow said, turning the page of his textbook. “He says cryptic shit all the time. Doesn’t mean anything.”

Raven fell silent again. She didn’t have the slightest of idea what it meant that Summer had silver eyes, but she knew Qrow was bullshitting their teammate: Ozpin frequently spoke in riddles, but they _always_ had meaning.

There was meaning in Summer’s visits to the clocktower. A different meaning than what took Qrow there.

“Do you think it’s something to do with her semblance?” Tai asked. “Hey, Qrow, you ever gonna tell me _your_ semblance?”

“Lemme see your homework for Peach’s class,” Qrow said.

“What? No, do it yourself!”

“Come on, Tai, all these stupid etiquette lessons are gonna make me fall behind. Just let me see them.”

“I’m not helping you cheat!”

“For _two minutes!”_

Raven rolled her eyes, irritated by their bickering but nonetheless pleased that Qrow had diverted Taiyang’s attention. Taiyang wasn’t always very clever, or interesting, but the twins could not afford him to ask too many questions.

She watched from the corner of her eyes as Tai and Qrow’s fight became physical, the boys fighting over a composition notebook. Qrow might convince Taiyang to pull pranks, but he couldn’t keep Tai from doing the right thing. It was annoying, that sense of blind morality.

Like a puppy. 

The sort of cute that made you want to squeeze it until its eyes bulged.

Qrow ripped the notebook from Tai’s hands and sprang onto the top bunk, grinning victoriously only for a moment before Taiyang leapt bodily on top of him, their arguments devolving into incoherent, shouted curses. 

The war ended and Tai returned to his bunk with his now-mangled notebook, sporting a purpled eye and lopsided grin that made even Raven’s lips twitch before she lowered her head again, polishing her weapon with renewed determination, Taiyang’s warm, goofy expression lingering in her mind.

_Puppies don’t stay cute forever,_ she thought.

Summer didn’t arrive back until after dark, Raven’s eyes darting up from her book at her entrance. The girl looked drained, her face devoid of her usual smile, silver eyes downcast, pale and tired.

“How was your appointment?” Raven asked.

Summer looked just as started as Taiyang by the question, a smile forming on her lips, tense and forced. 

“It went well, thank you,” Summer said.

“So what did you do?” Tai asked. “You look…you don’t look good.”

Raven met Qrow’s eyes and her twin gave a tiny shrug to indicate he didn’t have any information; she had interrogated him repeatedly about Summer’s visits to see Ozpin, but Qrow denied knowing anything about it. She knew him too well to think him lying.

“It was fine,” Summer said.

Not an answer.

Taiyang let it go, brows knit in concern.

“I’m fine,” Summer said, catching the expression on her teammates’ faces. 

“Okay…” Tai spoke softly, the gears in his head turning painfully slow as he searched for meaning in meaningless words.

Raven glanced at her twin, Qrow responding with a nearly imperceptible nod.

“You wanna take a walk with me?” Qrow offered. “I can’t stand looking at these damn books anymore and Tai won’t let me copy. Let’s go to ice cream so I can swindle them out of you,” he added with a wink.

_Good boy._

“Well…” Summer hesitated.

“Come on,” Qrow took Summer’s hand and pulled her back to the door. “We’ll be back.”

“Bring me something!” Taiyang called as they vanished. He sighed, falling back on his pillow. “He won’t, will he?”

“No,” Raven said.

“Because I didn’t give him the homework answers?”

“Yes.”

Taiyang sighed again. “You’re done with yours?”

“I finished it in class.”

Taiyang propped his chin up in one hand. “You’re really smart, huh?”

Raven looked up from her book. He was doing that annoying thing again.

Talking.

_Fine._

She could stand it, just this once.

“Knowledge is power,” she said.

“And power is…important to you?”

“Of course it is,” she said, surprised by the question. “Power is…”

Taiyang met her eyes expectantly.

“Power is freedom,” she finished.

“Oh.” Tai furrowed his brows. “I guess I never thought about it like that.”

“How did you think about it?” Raven was interested despite herself; she suddenly found it important that Taiyang understand how she thought, about how the world really worked.

“I sort of thought freedom was…like it didn’t depend on other people, you know? Freedom is being happy.”

Raven snorted. Naïve, simply drivel. 

“You think that _because_ other people have never tried to take things away from you.”

Tai was quiet for a moment and Raven looked back down at her book, irritated. Just as quickly as she wanted to explain, she now wanted nothing more than for him to go away.

“I guess you’re right.”

She jerked her head back up. “What?”

“You’re right.” Tai sat up, curling his legs under him. “I’ve had a pretty good life. I don’t really know what it’s like to have grown up like you and Qrow. But I can guess it’s hard. You guys are…you guys are really strong. Not just in combat, but…” 

He shrugged. “You guys just seem like you can handle anything. It’s impressive. And intimidating. People don’t know how to talk to you, so they avoid you. And I know you don’t _need_ other people, but I hope…” He scratched his head, reaching for words. “I hope we can at least be friends.”

Raven stared, narrowing her eyes at the speech. Taiyang spoke with an unpolished air that suggested he meant every stupid thing he said.

It confused her.

She put her book on the table and crossed the room to his bed. He almost shrank back but held his position, a stupid, brave move that no other student would have done in the same position – 

She seized his shirt and pulled him forward, his eyes growing wide when her lips pressed against his, hard and demanding. He ceased to protest at the touch, eyes closing. He wanted this, the idiot. Like she needed _his_ support, his understanding. The idea was ridiculous – 

She released him and he fell backward onto the bed. Without a word, she went back to her desk, reopening her book.

She felt Taiyang’s eyes on her and doubled her efforts to read.

“…Raven?”

“Don’t ruin it by talking,” she said.

Wisely, Taiyang fell silent. She hazarded a glance where he sat on the bed, hugging a pillow against his chest with a smitten expression on his face.

The smile tugged at her lips against her will and she lifted the book over her face.

Qrow and Summer returned half an hour later, sporting ice cream for their teammates. Taiyang dug in eagerly, doing his best not to glance at Raven again and again. Summer’s smile had returned with her as she explained how Qrow had snuck them into the cafeteria. Raven rose and plucked Qrow’s sleeve.

“Outside,” she murmured.

Qrow followed without a word, closing the door behind them.

“So?” she said.

Qrow shrugged. “She won’t talk to me yet,” he said. “Whatever Ozpin is doing with her, it’s not something she wants to share.”

“Yet.”

Qrow sighed. “Can’t you get it out of her? Be girls together or something?”

Raven snorted.

“If you want to know so bad, then you think of something,” Qrow snapped. “Ozpin sure as hell isn’t gonna tell me shit.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Do you _really_ think he tells me anything really important?” Qrow demanded.

Raven met his eyes. 

She was very, very sure Ozpin did.

_Liar, liar, brother._

Still, it _was_ too early for Ozpin to have told Qrow his darker secrets. Whatever Qrow knew now was secondary. She could get more from him if she didn’t push him too hard now.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll be her friend. But I want you to talk to her too. You’re both Ozpin’s pets now. Use that to get closer to her.”

Qrow sighed again, this time heavily.

“Remember why you’re here,” she hissed.

She left him in the corridor, his eyes downcast.

Every day, Qrow was getting too close to Ozpin but losing his objectivity, Raven was getting too close to a teammate with little use, and unanswered questions about Ozpin only continued to swirl around them.

_Remember why you’re here._

That, too, was getting lost a little more each day.


	5. In which Qrow touches what he ought not to touch, and Ozpin is obliged to rescue him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! We've been down and out with a flu bug, but we're back on schedule! <3

Friday afternoons were the best time for a quick loop about the school, Qrow thought, closing his eyes, the wind whistling through his wings. Classes done, the student was no longer imprisoned by the academy walls – or grounded legs.

He drifted over the boundaries of campus, listening to how the air stilled the further he went. Peace, quiet, and a serious lack of other people. The only reason to turn back now was for food –

As though fate could hear his thoughts, he spied a small clearing below, something red catching his eye. Fresh fruit? So readily available for stealing?

He landed on the ground and hopped toward the berries, head cocked to listen for any approaching footsteps. Whatever had left this feast wasn’t likely to keep away for long. Qrow hopped closer, beak at the ready –

The snap of the trap was so loud that for a moment Qrow couldn’t register anything else, only feeling the sharp tug of something around him, the berries squashed into his feathers.

_Well, shit._

Qrow had somehow trapped himself in some very strong netting - a quick examination of which proved it was military grade for containing Grimm, no doubt left by the faculty to keep students safe.

Unless a student was stupid enough to fall in it himself.

_Greeeaaat._

Thick sarcasm oozed in his inner thoughts. A quick transformation should fix this - _oh._

A sharp metal bar poked the crow's back. If he transformed, it would pierce his chest a few inches deep.

_Okay...Plan B..._

A Plan B would have been nice.

As it was, Qrow wiggled in the trap, feeling the tip of the bar behind him. 

He wasn’t far outside the school grounds; eventually someone – a student, or the teacher who had set the trap – would come by and free him.

Eventually.

_How the fuck long was that gonna be?_

***

On Friday, Qrow was late to his lesson with Ozpin.

This scarcely surprised the headmaster; Qrow always put up some mild resistance at the etiquette lessons, even when Ozpin suspected he did not mean it. Still, the hour dragged on with no excuse at all from the student, which was a shame; Ozpin often found Qrow’s colorful justifications and stories worth missing a lesson. 

Ozpin considered texting him, his scroll in hand and the words nearly spelled out, but he opted against it. He expected Qrow to act out once and again, even if against Ozpin himself. Such bad habits would be difficult to break so quickly. 

And so Ozpin went about his business as usual, Ferra making unwelcome commentary regarding the day being remarkably quieter for the student's absence. 

On Saturday morning, over his first cup of coffee, the headmaster pulled up the attendance records for Qrow Branwen. Every course showed a mark indicating his absence. 

He shook his head, disappointed despite himself, and continued with the day's responsibilities. He rarely took Saturdays off, preferring to use the lack of classes to catch up on administrative tasks and general oversights. He skimmed the reports sent from the young Professor Port regarding the success of the outer campus Grimm traps with only half his attention, still dwelling on whether something had happened to cause Qrow to fall into another dark mood and skip all his classes. 

Ozpin had only just poured a second cup of coffee when the realization struck him. He pulled up Professor Port's report again, his eyes darting over the details. 

Of the two dozen traps laid out around the school, four had been recently set off. The headmaster checked the locations, typing in the coordinates to nearby security cameras. Two appeared to be false alarms, the traps empty. Another housed a pacing Beowolf. The last -

Ozpin half-rose from his chair, zooming the camera in until the small black bird came into focus. He noted the coordinates and seized his cane from beside his desk, thinking that perhaps a brisk morning walk on the outside of the academy was suddenly a perfectly lovely idea.

***

It had been well over a day and Qrow was well beyond restless.

Long ago he had attempted digging his way out, but was foiled by the discovery of metal plating beneath the dirt. Whoever set the Grimm trap was, unfortunately for Qrow, good at their job. 

Qrow was _hungry._ Night had granted the crow a small meal - a beetle wandering by the nets - but that had hardly been enough for the last twenty four plus hours.

The bird heaved a sigh and flopped on his back as well as he could, belly exposed for a nice sun bath. 

Perhaps he just needed a nap.

***

Ozpin approached the trap cautiously, peering down at the bird suspended in the netting. Qrow had turned over into his back, a sign that the student was at least still alive.

 

The headmaster poked at the netting with the end of his cane, digging for the release switch. He found it after a quiet moment, the trap opening with a screech of metal.

He sincerely hoped nothing serious was amiss with Qrow, for personal reasons and because the idea of explaining any of this to Ferra seemed rather unpleasant. He crouched beside the trap, placing his cane down to reach for the bird.

Qrow, however, had other ideas, wings suddenly flapping to life, an explosion of black feathers.

***

_Release at last!_

Qrow didn't take the time to watch how this blessed fortune crossed his path - he simply flew up as far as his tired wings could take him into the sky. 

_Sweet, sweet freedom._

Unfortunately, tired wings was right. Being cooped up for so long, unable to properly stretch and running on little fuel, they ached at the sudden exercise and threatened to give out. 

Qrow cawed fiercely at his own wings, urging them to carry him further into the sky.

Cursing internally, he gave up. He was too exhausted. The moody crow glided slowly down to the ground. He could at least see who he owed for his freedom.

A figure came into view as he drifted lower: Ozpin. 

_Of course._

So that was how he was sprung. A huff of annoyance that he had to be rescued signaled the last of his frustration. To be honest, Qrow was almost relieved to see Professor Ozpin; this way he didn’t have to suffer knowing he owed any favors to other students.

Qrow landed, perching on the headmaster's shoulder, then nuzzled the man's scarf with a small chirp as proper thank you.

 _If he knew it was me, I’d get bonus points for manners,_ Qrow thought wryly. Well, this would have to be close enough to following the headmaster’s lessons – without him ever knowing.

***

Ozpin raised his eyebrows at the bird's unexpected affection, but he did not mind it. In fact, he decided he was fast becoming rather affectionate of birds himself. He ran a gentle finger down the crow's neck.  
"There, there, my friend. You're safe now." Ozpin glanced back toward the school, a long walk for them both. "Perhaps you should allow me to escort you back home?"

Without waiting for a response, the headmaster began the trek toward Beacon, hoping Qrow would accept the kindness if he did not suspect Ozpin was directly offering.

The bird seemed to sigh in resignation to the help as he cozied his seat on Ozpin's shoulder. Ozpin pretended not to notice that the gentle rocking side to side lulled the crow's eyes closed. By the time they reached the school, Qrow was already deep asleep in the nap Ozpin suspected he very much needed.

It took nearly twenty minutes for Ozpin to reach the tower, his rolled steps slowing his usual pace, careful not to wake the crow perched on his shoulder. Ferra Agrios was waiting for him at the elevator, tapping an impatient foot at his appearance.

"Did you forget you asked me to meet with you this morning?" she demanded.

Ozpin merely placed a finger to his lips to draw her silence, motioning toward the sleeping bird.  
Ferra stared at him in a manner to indicate she was certain the headmaster had finally lost the last of his marbles.

Ozpin gingerly extracted his scroll from his coat, tapping a rapid text.

Ferra glanced at her own scroll when it buzzed in response. She glanced back up at him, her expression one of pure exasperation.

"You have to be fuc - "

"Ferra, please," Ozpin whispered, and nodded at her scroll.

With a very long inhale, Ferra typed back a response.

"Should I still come up - on my day off, after waking up early - or would you prefer to be alone with your new pet?"

"If you don't mind working in silence...? Think of it as a sort of game."

Ferra motioned toward the elevator dramatically. Ozpin keyed in the access code, ever so slowly removing his scarf from his neck while waiting for the doors to open. This he placed in Ferra's reluctant arms, followed by the bird himself, gently scooped up in Ozpin's hands. 

The headmaster's assistant stared disapprovingly at the crow in her arms the entire ride up, until Ozpin took the makeshift nest from her, settling the sleeping creature on the right side of the office desk. This was the second time Qrow had been granted the hospitality of Ozpin's scarf, and yet the headmaster saw no reason why he should not continue to offer it.

***

The tiny bird stirred with a shake of his feathers after the comfort of near comatose sleep. He was alone in Ozpin’s office, the gears ticking gently above him with no real tell of how long he’d been out. An hour? Two?

A quick hop out of the nest, he immediately began preening himself, smoothing feathers back into place, cleaning bits of berry from his wings. A last satisfied shake of his tail, he surveyed the space around him. Hopping across the desk, he searched - no, hunted - for food to quell his hunger.

He stuck his head in the empty, coffee-stained mug on the desk, unsatisfied. He wasn’t ready to leave the quiet comfort of the headmaster’s office, but he was also pretty sure Ozpin didn’t eat unless Agrios shoved it down his throat. Still, there had to be _something_ to snack on.

***

Ozpin stepped off the elevator into his office, noticing the empty nest immediately. A shame, he thought, having gone to the faculty lounge to procure a bag of popcorn for the bird. Then again, he didn't mind the snack himself, no matter what questionable comments Ferra made regarding its pairing with coffee.

His Saturday to-do list remained longer than it ought to have at noon, his morning taken up by Qrow's rescue, but now without the student to distract him, he could catch up easily enough. He refilled his mug and took a seat once more, finding the work far more comfortable with coffee and popcorn.

He didn’t notice the bird lurking beneath the desk.

***

Eyeing the figure from beneath the glass, the black bird remained hidden until Ozpin’s seat was procured and the smell of popcorn wafted down.

Quieting a caw of delight, carefully he edged further from beneath the desk, closer to the bag, waiting for an opportune moment for a stealthy poke at the popcorn. 

The strike was almost silent but for the flap of wings. One piece would not be missed. 

Two. 

Three.

The headmaster’s eyes caught the small movement beside him but they both pretended otherwise, Ozpin casually pushing a few pieces in the crow's direction, as though amused by the animated strikes against buttery prey.

Gradually, Ozpin’s sleight of hand became less subtle, until he sat at his desk, chin in palm, dropping popcorn to the eager crow at his feet, his work forgotten. Good news, Qrow thought, chasing each piece, with how hungry he was.

Twenty two. 

That was the final count. The crow could fit no more, waddling toward the panoramic window, flopping onto his back once more to resume sunbathing.

It was Saturday, after all. Nothing at all for a student to do.

***

Ozpin restrained a chuckle by biting his lower lip, the bird - now delightfully overfilled with popcorn - more than a little comical as he sunned himself without a care. He wondered if Qrow might one day be embarrassed by Ozpin's knowledge of this shameless form.

Perhaps not. 

Ozpin watched for a moment longer, the charm fading into something else regarding the crow's rebellious unconcern. 

Envy?

_Come, come, old man. You have work to do._

He allowed the crow to remain undisturbed, once more turning back to his desk.

***

How many more hours had passed? Three? Four? Qrow couldn’t care less. He was, for the first time in almost two days, well fed and well rested.

It was the weekend and he had a day of utter freedom. 

And a headmaster working studiously in his chair before Qrow.

_Did he ever take a day off?_

Qrow doubted it.

Ozpin was engrossed with work. Distracted. Not paying attention to the other creature in his office. 

The temptation proved too great.

Stealthily rising, he edged his way over to Ozpin's chair. At the base, the professor’s pant leg shifted gently as the man shuffled in movement. The crow nipped at the shifting fabric with a quick tug before darting further out of view.

 _Tag,_ he thought, his laugh forming a soft _caw._

***

Ozpin felt the soft tug at his cuff and could not prevent the smile that it caused. He was pleasantly surprised by the student's playfulness; for too long, Qrow had been hesitant to socialize, to allow himself to enjoy simply being alive.

The headmaster carefully re-positioned his legs, careful to avoid the mischievous creature lurking beneath his desk but choosing to give him the opportunity for another strike.

***

An easy target. The crow could not believe how Ozpin lowered his guard in the security of his office.

The second strike - on the headmaster's left ankle cuff this time - was just as swift as the first. Qrow darted back behind the man's chair where he awaited his next opportunity. He ruffled his tail feathers in excitement quelling a caw of excitement at the hunt.

Never had he challenged such a skilled opponent.

***

Another tug at his pant cuff, then just as quickly the bird had vanished. Ozpin glanced down but could not spot Qrow, chuckling under his breath at the spirited, almost childlike behavior. Ozpin thought briefly about the possibility of damage to his clothing by allowing the bird to continue to stalk him, but he dismissed it immediately. The distraction from work for the sake of mere play made him feel years younger.

He stretched his legs further out below his desk, wondering if he might be able to catch the elusive crow with the proper bait.

***

The bird weighed his options. Pant cuffs were enticing, but the distance was a risk. If he were to properly stalk his prey, he couldn't let the prey see him.

The tailcoat it was. The crow hoped up to nip a tuft poking out of the right corner of the chair.

***

The change of targets surprised the professor. He turned in his chair but once again the crow vanished beneath the chair. Work abandoned, Ozpin put all his focus toward predicting the bird's next strike, feeling vaguely as though he were being hunted by a feathered shark below the depths of his desk.

Pant cuffs relinquished, Qrow yanked at the closer target on the left before darting back to hide behind the chair. Momentum unrelenting, the bird hopped up on the back of the chair to nip at the headmaster's scarf before fleeing to the safety of the far desk side.

Despite being ready for the crow's next attack, the pull at Ozpin's scarf was yet another unpredictable strike, the headmaster unable to catch him in time. Qrow was clearly enjoying himself, and so was Ozpin. The professor had no intention of preventing the bird from his fun, work now a far off memory.

The crow cawed with glee from somewhere under Ozpin's desk taunting the man to chase him. Fierce rustling heard further encouraged a prompt response before the crow could cause further trouble.

The noises from below the desk caused Ozpin to very nearly call out to Qrow, but he kept his mouth closed, still unwilling to give up the secret of knowing Qrow's other form. 

He slipped from his chair and knelt below the desk, one hand gripping the glass top. He caught a glimpse of black feathers before it vanished. The idea of climbing under the desk to give chase was a juvenile one, and yet the headmaster could not resist. 

The crow quickly hopped up to the top of the desk and eyed the headmaster's back. A quick wiggle of the tail prepped him for attack - landing squarely on the headmaster's lower back, the bird ran in a circle, nipped the tailcoat, and squawked with victorious glee.

The moment the crow took to gloat was his undoing. A brief glimmer of green, and the bird was cupped in the headmaster's hands, the feathers tickling his palms as he struggled. Perhaps using his Huntsman abilities, even if for a moment, was cheating, but Ozpin thought the crow might prefer a more challenging game.

 

"Tag," he said softly, releasing his fingers from around the bird. 

 

The crow gave a blunt stare and cawed - obvious disapproval about the cheating. The bird nipped at Ozpin's scarf in retribution before jumping up to stand atop the man's head. A few side steps to face the elevator and another chirp commanding "Mush, human."

"How many times has Ferra lamented my hair akin to a bird's nest?" Ozpin chuckled, balancing the creature on his head. "Done playing indoors are we? Very well." 

 

He allowed the crow to dictate the game, stepping into the elevator, rather hoping to run into Ferra again, if only to see the expression on her face.

 

The pair proceeded out to the courtyard, the crow lifting his wings to direct the headmaster, until they reached a fountain. Upon arrival, the crow abandoned his newfound nest to disappear into the nearby trees.

Within minutes, the avian returned with a ripe branch of delicious looking red berries in beak. He landed next to Ozpin, waiting for outstretched hands to receive the thank you gift for the man's kindness earlier.

The crow resumed his perch atop the headmaster's head where he picked at a berry he had reserved for himself in his claw.

"Isn't this charming," Ozpin remarked to the bird, fully aware that should he be observed, he would look less sane than usual. He wasn't inclined to care, finding far too much enjoyment in his current adventure. He plucked a berry from the stem and popped it in his mouth, wondering absently if Qrow knew the species to be edible. 

Well, he thought with an inward chuckle, glancing up toward the bird in his hair, he supposed if they were not the both of them would share the effects of poison.

A squeaked chirp burst from the bird in a hiccup signifying the end of his berry. Hopping down to the ground, he poked at small nothings until the headmaster finished his gift accompanied by a squawk of delight and a race in a circle.

It was time for more games - signaled by the crow taking off for the nearest group of trees. Seconds later, his head poked out from the side chirping for the headmaster to give chase. If Ozpin were going to cheat, then the avian was certainly going to demand the home field advantage.

The headmaster gave no consideration to work in favor of another game; he rose, all compliance to the bird's whims, following the caws from the trees. At once Qrow took off into a large grouping of shrubberies. Ozpin pondered how best to extract him when his scroll trilled in his pocket. 

"Yes?" he asked, continuing in his mission by peering on either side of the bush he suspected housed the crow.

"Sir."

"Good afternoon, Ferra."

"Sir, I had a report from security that you're in the courtyard."

"So I am."

"And at some point, you had a bird in your hair."

She spoke with a tone that begged him to prove the report incorrect. 

"So I did," he said. 

"The bird from this morning."

"Yes. I rescued him from a Grimm trap and he insisted on thanking me. Now it seems we've begun a game of hide and seek."

"Sir."

"Yes, Ferra?"

"...it's a bird."

"Crows are very clever creatures," Ozpin said. "He is quite aware that I am his ally, and he's showing his appreciation by inviting me to this game."

"The bird is."

"Is that all, Ferra?"

"...I think so, sir."

"Very well. Thank you for checking in. Do take the rest of the day off. It is Saturday, after all."

"...yes, sir."

He replaced the scroll in his pocket and poked experimentally at the bush with the end of his cane. 

The bush to the left rustled wildly as the crow cawed with joy. The bird, it seemed, thoroughly enjoyed the compliments. He rewarded Ozpin by attacking the end of his cane with his beak and griping on. When the man retrieved his cane the crow was attached.

Mouth still wrapped tightly around the stick, he cawed, flapping his wings with joy.

Ozpin chuckled at the crow's animated movements, lifting the cane above the confines of the bushes. 

"You have been quite the entertainment today," he remarked to the bird. "It makes me wish I could keep you around permanently, although I could hardly stand to cage a creature accustomed to freedom."

The moment 'cage' escaped Ozpin's lips, the crow's grip slipped and he fell to the ground. Shaking the stun, he eyed Ozpin carefully; cautiously, the bird side stepped its way toward the headmaster. Inspecting the space around the man, the crow decided he was telling the truth and would not cage the avian.

Finally at Ozpin's feet, the bird clasped gently to the headmaster's pant leg with his beak first, then swung his feet up to meet his beak, repeating the motion until he had climbed his way up to Ozpin's shoulder where he perched once more. Cozied up against his favorite nest, the crow nipped at Ozpin's glasses playfully sliding them down the man's nose - an act of shaming for the sheer mention of the abysmal word.

The headmaster pushed his glasses back to a safe position on the bridge of his nose. "I suppose I deserved that," he said, granting the crow a soft pet on his beak. "I should be working, but somehow you inspire quite the opposite. Why don't I show you my favorite bench? It's been some time since I visited it."

The professor was granted a chirp of gleeful agreement before his feathered friend stepped into the corner of Ozpin's scarf and nestled in preparation for the ride.

Some day Ozpin would tell Qrow how much he knew about his semblance, his tendency to use his bird form to do things he would never with less feathers. It would be amusing to see the student blush and stammer explanations for these innocent moments, these moments when Qrow was fully himself – playful, content, _trusting_.

But for now, the headmaster mused, offering the crow a light pet down his neck, just seeing Qrow happy was more than enough.


	6. In which Team STRQ begins to fragment and Professor Ozpin is dragged into teenage drama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late, but better than never! As a note, we'll be changing our update schedule to every other Sunday. This will give us a more appropriate amount of time to edit and deal with adulting. As always, thanks for reading! <3
> 
> \- Clocks

Team STRQ’s dorm was a frequent hotspot on Friday evenings, Taiyang and Qrow and even Summer happy to open their doors to friendly classmates, Qrow sneaking in more than a little hard liquor – the teens may be legal drinking age, but that didn’t change the fact that Beacon Academy was a dry campus.

Not that Qrow Branwen ever let rules get in the way of a good time.

Raven would allow these parties with a roll of her eyes, retreating to the corner of her top bunk, a book open in front of her face, red eyes lifting periodically to watch the other students, her stare empty and critical. None dared to speak to her, choosing instead to stay by the infectious optimism of Tai and Summer. Even Qrow, after a year of wild rumors about being raised with savages, managed a spot of popularity, always ready with a flask in his pocket and willing to share with those who agreed to join in on his famous school pranks.

No, they laughed and joked with all of Team STRQ save for Raven, and she much preferred it that way.

“You know they think you’re really cool,” Taiyang said suddenly.

Raven lowered her book enough to see him on the ladder, his elbows resting on the mattress. 

“I don’t care,” she said.

Tai laughed and climbed up, the words on her page shaking as he settled beside her. He gave a shrug.

“That’s why you’re cool,” he said.

Raven regarded him with narrow eyes. “They don’t want to talk to me.”

“Because they’re afraid of you! They think you’re a badass.”

Raven’s eyes flickered from Tai’s face to the raucous students below. Across the dorm, a group of boys were chanting as Qrow took on a line of shots without slowing.

“They do?” she asked. Of course it was no surprise; she and Qrow were leagues better Huntsmen than these teenagers. Their opinions didn’t matter.

“They told you that?” she asked Taiyang.

He laughed. “Yeah, all the time. They think you’re like…the ultimate Huntress to beat. Except none of them are confident enough to challenge you.”

“That’s stupid,” Raven announced. “They’ll never get better if they don’t push themselves.”

Taiyang watched Qrow finish his shots and then take a long bow.

“They’re jealous. Of how close you and Qrow are, how good you are. Of Summer for being the leader.” Tai paused. “Of me too.”

“You? Why you?”

“Well…” Tai fidgeted with his plastic cup. “Because I get to be close to you.”

She watched the slow spread of pink on his cheeks. What a strange thing to say. They were hardly close at all.

“Is that so.”

“Yeah,” Taiyang said quickly. “Look, Raven, we never really talked about that kiss –“

“I think you’ve had enough of that,” Raven said, motioning toward his drink.

“It’s just juice,” he said dismissively. “Are we never going to talk about it?”

“Never,” Raven said. She closed her book, sliding toward the ladder of the bunk. “I’m going for a walk. If Qrow gave you that cup, I’d be careful.”

There. She had warned him. That was all she owed him. She ignored the plaintive expression on his face as she climbed down. She didn’t need this conversation right now. A year and a half at Beacon and she still felt no better than when she first entered the academy; worse yet was how buddy-buddy Qrow was getting with other students.

With the _headmaster._

Something had to change.

She headed toward the door when she noticed Summer in the corner of the room, nursing a still-full cup of what Qrow was calling “juice.”

“Something wrong?” she asked, lowering her voice despite the noise.

Summer looked up, her smile still at the ready, if not a bit wilted. “No,” she said. “I…just don’t think I’m in the party mood right now.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“I…” Summer sighed. “I can’t.”

“Ozpin stuff?”

Summer nodded sadly. “I don’t like keeping things from my team. You guys are my family now. But…”

“It’s complicated,” Raven finished. 

“Yeah.”

“You want to get some air?”

“Yeah,” Summer said, her smile a little more genuine. “I’d like that, Raven.”

Raven took the cup from her hands and placed it on the dresser – it was best the small girl didn’t touch anything Qrow poured – and followed Summer to the open door.

She caught the critical stare her twin gave from across the room. With a toss of her head, she stepped out into the corridor, in all appearances wholly unconcerned with the opinions of the men in her life.

***

The evening had grown late when Ozpin heard his scroll buzz in his coat pocket. Despite it being nearly nine o'clock on a Friday night, Ozpin was at his desk, the monitors hovering above him reflecting work that could likely, he admitted reluctantly to himself, wait until Monday morning.  
He rubbed tired eyes and reached in his pocket for the scroll, hoping it was nothing urgent.

"Whoz tis? Did u now yur name is Reingmaster? What is a reingmaster?"

Ozpin reread the text several times until he could distinguish the meaning of the butchered words. 

With a knowing sigh, he typed back, "Qrow, please tell me you aren't drunk again."

"Tis isnt Qro. Is Taiii! Hiii"

Ozpin raised an eyebrow, letting out a quiet laugh. 

"Mr. Xiao Long," he wrote back. "Good evening. May I assume you and Mr. Branwen are both a Bit in your cups, or did you simply pilfer his scroll?"

"Wha? Qrows rigt here. Wit my cup. Good cup. Tasty cup."

"Oh dear," Ozpin murmured to himself. 

"Remind me," he wrote, "how you two are able to obtain alcohol at your age."

"Qro broughit. said is juic. not alcohole. Is good jusce."

Ozpin couldn't quite stop the snicker that the text elicited.

"Mr. Xiao Long, I regret to inform you that you are quite drunk."

"Inm not dunk! Wroq is. He is danxing on hte tabl"

"I rather regret missing out on that. I don't suppose you're in a state to film this event?"

"Umn. Lemne try."

Five minutes later Ozpin's scroll dinged, notifying receipt of a video.

Ozpin chuckled before he even hit the play button.

The video began in darkness, loud, tinny music in disharmony with shouts and explosions of laughter. Team STRQ’s dorm came into shaky focus, Taiyang’s face – relaxed with drink – blocking any significant view. 

“Qrow! I'm takin' a video! Looooook!”

The camera shifted violently to one of the students’ desks, where the blurry figure of Qrow danced shamelessly. He caught the camera on him and waved – his movements considerably soberer. He offered a wink and then his shirt was off, flung into a corner amidst screams – some in encouragement, and one in surprise, as though the garment had landed unexpectedly on them.

“Why’d you do that?” came Taiyang’s voice, too loud from beside the camera.

Qrow gave a careless shrug. “Because I'm hot.” 

A chorus of _boos_ followed this announcement, most in jest and disapproval of a bad pun, the video ending abruptly as Taiyang seemed to trip, the screen going black with a dissonant note of static.

Ozpin watched the video in unconcealed amusement, laughing silently into the palm of his hand until tears threatened. He had not expected Taiyang to comply but was delighted that he had. He wondered if Qrow would be embarrassed by the video once sober - somehow Ozpin doubted it.

"Charming," he wrote back. "Glad to see you both unwinding after a long week at school."

"U Nvr answerd. Who r u?"

“The Ringmaster, according to Qrow’s scroll.”

“Not an answr.”

"A friend," Ozpin wrote back, still amused by his own anonymity, and doubly so at the endearing nickname Qrow had granted him. 

"Tell me, Mr. Xiao Long, what are your plans for the evening? Staying in? Hunting Grimm? Destroying school grounds?"

"Ima finshmy juce and go hun qro. he said he gunna hdie in csool and i gotta fund him."

Ozpin read the text a number of times before successfully translating it into something proper. He glanced up involuntarily at his dim, empty office as though suddenly certain Qrow had come up without Ozpin's noticing. But no, the room seemed as still as ever, the gears above counting off the silent seconds.

"Good luck, Mr. Xiao Long. I daresay Mr. Branwen's hiding abilities have been quite refined from a year of evading professors."

"Qros alwys qiet. he can snek up on u snd yu wont kno it. but ima find him. wanna play 2?"

"I would love to. I'll even give you a hint: I'm in the headmaster's office. Qrow can give you the access code to get in."

The text came much delayed, "Said no."

Another two minutes and the scroll was ringing.

The text came much delayed, "E said no. Ucome join us. Qort yd."

Ozpin regarded the text with raised eyebrows. He began to write a polite decline of the drunken invite, but paused. He had nothing better to do - well, he did, but nothing he _wanted_ to do.

"Be down in a moment, Mr. Xiao Long."

He rose, taking his cane from beside his desk on his way to the elevator, wondering if this scenario was a coincidence or some half-sober plot of Qrow's to make Ozpin be more spontaneous.

Taiyang wasn't difficult to find in the courtyard, stumbling about with his unsteady gaze toward the tops of trees. Qrow, Ozpin mused, must have already vanished for the game of inebriated hide and seek. 

The headmaster walked up to the wobbly student, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Good evening, Mr. Xiao Long."

"Eeeey!" Taiyang turned to come face to face with the headmaster. The student paled immediately.

"P-Professsssor Ozpin," he slurred. "Wha are you doin' here?" Nerves turning him to jello, Taiyang made a valiant effort to straighten his posture and look sober. He even cleared his throat.

"We were just -" the student gestured wildly behind himself at no one in particular. Realizing he was alone, he cut the sentence off. "What are you doing here, Professor?"

Ozpin chuckled, enjoying the student's sudden change in demeanor more than he thought he should. 

"Why, Mr. Xiao Long," he remarked easily, "I do believe you invited me." So saying, he nodded at the scroll in Taiyang's hand. Taiyang turned a white paler than paper. Ozpin could see the tick-tick-ding until the student finally understood. 

After a long silence, he finally spoke, "Ye’re Reignmaster?" 

The poor boy was so inebriated he could only focus on one thing at a time.

"So it would seem," Ozpin said with a chuckle. "It's a rather endearing title to be gifted. Is Mr. Branwen as intoxicated as you, or did he merely see fit to disable you?"

"Both," Tai said glumly. "But I wan'ed more an' 'e said no."

"For the best, I'm sure," the headmaster said, catching Taiyang by the arm when he swayed a little too far. "Is there something on your mind that caused you to turn to alcohol?"

"Yesh," Tai announced, victorious he could answer one question without hesitation. "'is Raven's fault."

"Oh? Well, Miss Branwen does have...a strong personality."

"Tha's why I like her!" Tai said, his tone urgent. "An' I though' she liked me too."

"What changed your opinion of that?"

"She kissed me. An' now she won' ta' to me."

"Ah." Ozpin chuckled softly. "I see."

"If you do, you shoul' tell me!"

"Give her time, Mr. Xiao Long. She's...conflicted about her feelings for you and her friends, and the reasons she came to Beacon." Ozpin looked about the dark sky, eyes narrowing for a bird against the moonlight. "She will come to a decision soon. She's not one to remain in conflict for long."

"I 'ope so," Tai mumbled.

"I'm sure of it. So, Mr. Xiao Long, are there specific rules to this game, or do the traditional ones stand?"

"Um... you're supposed ta be drunk," the boy responded still distracted with the grand revelation: _Why would the headmaster need Qrow's phone number?_

"And you gotta catch 'im. Like tag."

"I'm afraid I don't share your level of intemperance," the headmaster said, "so I may have to bend that particular rule. But the other seems clear enough, although Mr. Branwen does have certain advantages in this game, doesn't he? Perhaps I can even the playing field."

The student stared at the professor, perplexed. When he couldn't figure it out, Tai agreed, "Okay! Um...he left a while ago, so go?"

“A black bird on a black night,” Ozpin mused. “Hardly fair conditions.”

“What ab’t birds?” Tai slurred.

“Nothing at all,” Ozpin said, giving the boy a smile. “Come along, Mr. Xiao Long. Let’s find you a comfortable bench to wait upon while I see if I can’t find your intoxicated teammate.”

***

Not a single sound was heard as a vice locked immobilizing the tipsy teen's flight. There was no way on the planet Taiyang had caught him; the graceless lumberjack was audible three hundred yards away, so _what the fuck...?_ Qrow turned to his captor: Ozpin. _Of course,_ he sighed in defeat.

"Time's up?" Qrow drawled.

"Afraid so, Mr. Branwen," the professor smiled.

"How'd ya-?"

"Despite popular student opinion, I do possess the skills of a proper Huntsman."

"Yeah? And when are you gonna start sharin' those?"

The bitterness came without warning, Qrow almost spitting the words contrary to his playful mask he wore not long ago.

The professor considered the student's sudden mood shift, his merrily drunken temperament dampened by resentment. Tonight was not simply celebratory freedom.

"Mr. Branwen, would you join me for a walk?"

"I don' really have a choice, do I?" Qrow growled. _Walks. Meetings. Etiquette lessons._ Ozpin was always trying to _fix_ Qrow, but never wanted to teach him what he wanted; what he _needed_.

One more month of no real information from the headmaster, and Qrow as pretty sure Raven was going to cut all his lessons short. _Stop playing with spoons when you need to be playing with knives,_ as she put it.

Practice, practice, practice. That was all this stupid school thing was. Practice manners, practice socializing, practice communications. None of that fucking mattered in his real life - not to what he was going to return to - not to the obligations he had waiting for him.

Raven was right. Qrow was slipping. Sure, his skills were fine but his passion... his passion was drifting. He was getting too comfortable in this cushy ass lifestyle that was nothing more than a joke of dream for him.

His life was struggle. His life was murder. His life was death.

"What's on your mind, Qrow?" Ozpin's voice wafted into the boy's thoughts. Qrow hadn't realized when he'd fallen into step beside the headmaster, when he'd memorized the pacing of each stride, the glide of each stretch, he just knew it was second nature at this point.

 _And that's the fucking problem._ Qrow _was_ getting to close to Ozpin. But still not fucking close enough.

"Why won't you teach me like you teach her?" Qrow bit out.

"’Her?’"

"Summer."

"Ah," the headmaster fell silent, the pair reaching the destination the both were familiar with on times like this - Ozpin's favorite hidden bench. He traveled there often to lose himself in contemplation; and Qrow always watched, but still learned nothing.

The sheer amount of time Qrow had sunk into this man without return of useful information was infuriating.

Qrow couldn't decide if he was too drunk or not drunk enough for this, but either way it was going down, and so he reached for the last of his flask before assuming a seat next to Ozpin.

Ozpin watched the rise and fall of the flask without comment, placing both hands atop his cane. 

“Why do you think my appointments with Miss Rose reflect anything about yourself?” he asked after it seemed Qrow was done venting.

"You won't teach me what I need to know. It's all etiquette and manners," Qrow growled running a hand through his wild strands. "When are you going to teach me the real stuff? You said I had potential. So _teach_ me. _Use_ me. I need the mission experience." Though he tried, Qrow could not fully conceal the desperation amidst his frustrated rambling.

_I need to know what they can do so I don’t get killed first._

Ozpin didn’t seem moved; he watched Qrow rant with no change in expression. A moment, a minute, an _eternity_ passed before he spoke.

“I see,” he said. “Has Miss Rose told you what manner of training she’s receiving from me?”

Qrow only snorted, too angry to speak.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Ozpin said carefully. “Qrow, the training Miss Rose is doing has nothing to do with you or my opinion of your readiness. It is required of her...unique position, just as your etiquette lessons are required of yours. As I told you before, any missions given to you from me may call for a perceived background beyond that of a bandit.”

He paused for a moment, long enough to collect his thoughts but not enough time for Qrow’s drunken mind to catch up.

“But perhaps you’re right,” the headmaster said. “Maybe I have been hesitating to send you out into the field. I worry about you, Qrow. Not concerning your skill - of that I was satisfied from your entry exams. I worry that if something were to happen to you, I don’t know that I could forgive myself.”

A quiet sigh and tap of the cane in the dirt. 

“That, however, must be my cross to bear,” Ozpin said, with a hint of a smile. “You have given me your consent and your word, and I must honor that.” 

“…So you’ll do it?” Qrow asked after a lengthy pause. “You’ll send me on a legit mission?”

 _Finally._ Maybe now Raven would stop harassing him every time they were alone. Maybe now she’d stop giving him the death glare when she couldn’t ream his ass.

He doubted it until he gave some results, but a guy can dream.

“We can talk about this when you’re…after you’ve had a night to sleep this off,” Ozpin said. “Does that seem fair to you?”

“Only if that’s a ‘yes.’”

“Very well. I promise to keep my word regarding this. But I reserve the right to choose a mission I think best suits your skills. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” the student grinned, throwing an arm around his headmaster’s shoulders.

“Then it’s an accord. Why don’t we rejoin your unfortunate teammate that I left – oh dear, the poor thing seems to have wandered off. No doubt still abiding by the rules of the game that you so brazenly disregarded.”

“’Ay. Prove I cheated,” he dared pointedly at Ozpin. “…But yeah… we should go and find ‘im. Courtyard?” Without awaiting a response, Qrow rose stumbling in the direction they’d last heard his friend, whom they found hiding behind a bush.

“I think he forgot he was the one lookin’ for me,” Qrow whispered in the headmaster’s ear, dropping his arm to sneak silently behind his friend.

“Qrow?” Taiyang whispered meekly. “Professor Ozpin?” He almost sounded scared.

“Tai!” Qrow yelled, an equally loud crash following suit when the blonde collided with the ground.

“’Ey! Shshshshsh. Did you know the ‘edmaster is ‘ere? Ozish- e’s.”

“I know, Tai,” Qrow grinned still not pointing out the obvious observer.

“How’d you get his number?”

“I stole it.”

“Ooooooh. You’re really cool, man.”

“I know, Tai.”

“I’m ‘ired,” the blonde yawned.

“I know, let’s go,” he heaved his friend up around the student’s shoulders nodding to the headmaster that he had the situation under control. “Just keep your promise,” he murmured passing the silver haired man.

“You have my word,” Ozpin said, leaning on his cane, watching as Qrow held up his stumbling roommate. Qrow gave the headmaster a last nod, a silent agreement between them.

_”You have my word.”_

For the first time in months, Qrow felt at ease. From all he’d learned of Professor Ozpin, his word meant a great deal, a creed of sorts. Surely he would at last have access to the information he wanted. 

The information he needed.


	7. In which Qrow gets his first mission as Ozpin's spy and neither want to admit they're worried about each other

**7:14 AM**

Professor Agrios stood behind Professor Ozpin’s desk, skimming the memo on her scroll as she spoke. 

“I’ve sent out the invites to this year’s Historical Masquerade,” she said, syncing the guest list with the monitors floating over Ozpin’s desk. “Professor Lionheart sends his personal regrets as always, but a number of his faculty have already responded in the affirmative.”

“Mmm,” Ozpin said, lifting his coffee to his lips, his eyes vacant.

Ferra kept her sigh internal.

**8:37 AM**

“Sir.”

“Yes?” Ozpin’s eyes drifted up over the rim of his glasses slowly, as though his assistant’s face refused to focus.

“Your cup has been empty for fifteen minutes.”

“Ah,” he said, looking down. “So it appears.”

“Sir, would you like to talk about it?”

“About what, Ferra?”

“About whatever is bothering you so much.”

“I haven’t an idea what you mean,” he said, pushing his chair back. “I just need a bit more coffee.”

**9:29 AM**

“The Council cleared the budget for next year’s new course catalog, so if you wish to instate Peter Port as a tenure-track professor, we will have the resources to do so.”

“Mmm.”

Ferra glanced down her nose at Ozpin, the headmaster scrolling through what appeared to be text messages.

“Although they have some questions regarding Professor Lesca’s current sanctions and whether that will continue to be a temporary reassignment. They’ve requested a video conference at some point next week, if your schedule allows.”

“Mmm.”

“Sir.”

“Yes?” Ozpin glanced at his mug again, as though to ensure this time it was not empty. Only then did his eyes flicker upward to his disapproving assistant. 

“Video conference. Peter Port. Professor Lesca.”

“Ah, yes, yes…”

“Is next Thursday at two o’clock fine by you?”

“You would know better than me,” Ozpin said, with a half-smile.

“It’s free on your calendar.”

“Then do please reserve the time.”

“An hour?”

“I think half that is adequate.”

Ferra raised an eyebrow. “To explain to the Council why you’re planning to remove a tenured professor from his teaching course next year?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t intend to explain anything.”

“Correct.”

Ferra frowned.

“As far as the Council is concerned, Professor Lesca’s position is perfectly stable and I have no intention of dissolving his contract.”

“Until you do so without warning.”

“Until I have privately built my case.”

Ferra sighed. “As you wish. One half-hour.”

“Thank you, Ferra.”

“Now do you wish to talk about whatever is bothering you?”

Ozpin smiled softly, sadly, again, turning back to his monitors. “No, thank you. Would you please pull up my calendar for next week?”

It wasn’t a denial this time.

Ferra sighed loudly and tapped her scroll to synchronize.

**11:58 AM**

“This is the last of this pot,” Ferra said, placing the mug in front of the headmaster. “Would you like me to start another?”

Ozpin paused in a response to an email, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “No, thank you, Ferra, this will do.”

Declining coffee.

A very bad sign.

_”All right,”_ Ferra snapped, slamming her scroll down on the glass desktop so abruptly that she managed to catch Ozpin’s flinch. “I’ve been cooped up in this damnable ticking office for five hours repeating myself while you stare at walls and sigh like a lovelorn teenager. Can we _please_ speak about whatever is on your mind so that I can get _actual_ work done?”

Ozpin placed the mug back on his desk.

“I think you were doing the majority of the sighing, Ferra.”

“Don’t talk back at me, sir. I’m serious.”

Ozpin let out a long breath, the floating green monitors disappearing. 

“I gave Qrow Branwen an off-campus assignment.”

Ferra considered this piece of information. “How off-campus?”

“Mistral.”

The sound she made was involuntary.

_Of course_ this had to do with Qrow Branwen.

“And? You’re feeling guilty about his missing class, or about using your students for illegal missions, or – “

“You’re projecting again,” Ozpin said, his lips twitching. “But no, neither of those things.”

Ferra sighed. “You’re worried about him.”

Ozpin hummed, almost smiling. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not at all, you repressed old man. That’s why I’m interrogating the hell out of you. So why are you worried about him?”

The headmaster spun his chair to face his assistant. 

“Not for any reasons that make sense,” he said. “He’s a skilled fighter with impeccable instincts. He understands society – or at least enough now to be successful with this assignment. He’s eager and willing.”

“He and his sister were raised as bandits,” Ferra said. 

Ozpin’s expression did not change.

“You know. Of course you already know.”

“I have every reason to trust him,” Ozpin said. “Explicitly.”

“So then…?”

“As I said,” Ozpin said, the sad smile returning, “all my worries defy reason.”

Ferra sighed again, leaning against the desk. “You really are utterly unaware sometimes, sir.”

Ozpin waited expectantly for the rest of the explanation.

“You’re worried because you _care_ about him, for goodness’ sake,” she said, exasperated. “I’ve seen you get close to students before, but you must admit Branwen is…special.”

“Yes, he is.”

“So you let yourself get attached. It’s easy to do as a teacher.”

Ozpin chuckled. “Yes, it is,” he said again. “He has such…potential, Ferra. He is so eager to learn but so afraid to ask. His upbringing has quelled his natural curiosity and only well after a year here am I beginning to see him as he truly is.”

“A prankster?”

“A young man with an immeasurable sense of humor,” Ozpin returned. “A young man who has been given an incredibly harsh life but whose optimism pushes him to be better than his circumstances. He respects his sister and his tribe but he longs to be free of them. He’s turning twenty years old soon, Ferra, and he’s only just now discovering how to be a child – the little curiosities and pleasures that make life into something beyond mere survival. I admit it delights me to watch him become something more than the neglected bandit that so effortlessly passed my entrance exams. He…he smiles these days.”

Ferra let him speak without interruption; Ozpin was rarely talkative and never so open. 

“And so you worry,” she said quietly.

“So I do,” he said. “But I promised to treat him like a proper Huntsman on his mission, and so I have done so. Zero contact until he has a dedicated, secure line in Mistral. Three days.”

“How many has it been so far?”

Ozpin let out a soft breath. “Two.”

Ferra felt the lines around her mouth ease. “He’s fine, sir.”

“I know, Ferra.”

“You said yourself he’s perfectly suited.”

“I know, Ferra.”

“Would you like a hug?”

Ozpin’s eyes shot up at the question. “I beg your pardon?”

“That’s the first expression on your face today that isn’t angst or somber distraction,” Ferra said, clicking her tongue. “Don’t look so startled, I’m not _actually_ going to hug you.”

“And just when I thought I would be truly comforted,” Ozpin said.

“I swear I will smack that smirk off your face, sir.”

“You needn’t deny your motherly instincts toward nurturing.”

“Oh, shut up and drink your bloody coffee.”

***

Summer Rose steadied her breathing, her lungs stretching against her ribcage, the air painful. She tossed her hair from her eyes, sweat dripping down her face, down her back. Her hands were stiff, fingers throbbing as she gripped the hilt of her weapon.

“Again.”

She almost flinched at the word, the soft-spoken command from the opposite side of the room. A dozen yards away, Professor Ozpin stood, both hands on the top of his cane. She swallowed, rolling her shoulders back and stepping into attack position.

Professor Ozpin merely pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.

She came at him with all her speed, her white cloak a blur behind her. Her javelin struck left right up down and she felt the jar of contact, vibrations shooting agonizingly up her arms. Yet she knew none of them connected in a way that mattered; Ozpin’s body seemed to stand still and blur with movement simultaneously, every pulse a flicker of green, his cane deflecting each of her strikes as though he could read her mind.

She grit her teeth, her temper rising with frustration; they had been at this for so long her limbs weighed her down, every muscle screaming to protest the continuous demands the headmaster made. And yet she needed to take it, needed to be better than just this much. 

After all, she was a silver-eyed warrior.

She landed a blow downward toward Ozpin’s head – weeks ago, she had held back for fear of hurting him, but now she knew better – but the headmaster’s cane interjected. The two weapons connected for a moment, in which Ozpin met her eyes.

_Too slow._

She didn’t feel the blow that sent her across the room, tumbling over the concrete floor.

_”Augh!”_ The sound was nearly a scream, wrenched from her lungs more from anger than pain, anger at herself for not being better.

“You’re showing your hand,” Ozpin said.

He didn’t even sound out of breath.

“Remember, Miss Rose, you cannot rely on brute force alone. Not until you have learned to unlock your true power.”

“I know!” she said, picking herself up with bruised limbs. “I know I’m not good enough!”

“No,” the headmaster said. “You’re not.”

The frank statement ripped another furious cry from her lips. She stood, seizing the javelin again and sprinting back toward Professor Ozpin. This time she didn’t stop; she zipped past him and immediately turned on her heel, swinging the weapon up – Ozpin blurred into indistinct green again – and then back around in a feint.

The tip clashed noisily with the headmaster’s cane yet again.

“Better,” he said. “But still not good enough. _Again.”_

And again she went, her ears ringing with the sound of metal on metal, the material shrieking as they ground against one another, Summer’s body heavier with each breath but her mind on fire, the sounds of Ozpin’s unimpressed lectures echoing.

“You’re getting angry,” Ozpin remarked, pushing her off yet again. “Unless that unlocks your true potential, all it will do is make you sloppy.”

“Shut up!” she screamed. Before today, she would have never dreamed of showing him such disrespect, but he was goading her now, pushing her in a way that hurt, that left her helpless.

“It’s merely the truth,” he said, side-stepping when she rushed recklessly at him. “Will this anger save your teammates when they need you? Will this temper make you able to truly lead and protect them?”

She swung the spear at him, her movements wild now, gritting her teeth again his words.

“Or,” Ozpin said, their weapons locking together, “will you watch them die because you were negligent?” With an expression that was almost pitying, he cast her off again, the student rolling along the floor.

She screamed, a sound that had no meaning beyond the fury and fear that his words seeped into her; she was blind now to even her own action. She was on her feet but she didn’t know how she had gotten there, weapon at the ready, her vision clouded with white hot emotion. She could hear the strangled sound that came from her hoarse, broken voice, the painful flare of light that seemed to suddenly bounce from the stark walls of the basement warehouse. She felt the javelin fall from her fingers, the surge of strength that coursed through terrified veins. From very far away, she saw the surprise that flickered over Professor Ozpin’s face, parted lips immediately concealed by a flash of green.

A shield.

_Against what?_

Then everything was dark.

An eternity passed with Summer waking on the cold floor. Her body felt weak and drained, her head throbbing as though from a migraine. Everything came into focus slowly, her eyes prickling, the room dark and empty.

“Professor?”

Her voice was hoarse and aflame; she cleared her throat and winced at the rawness of it.

_What had happened?_

Summer sat up, the walls shifting with this new perspective. Her practice javelin was beside her, her cloak dirtied and rumpled under her legs. Her legs shook as she rose, squinting in the darkness.

She caught the movement at once, a dark heap on the other side of the room. She tensed for a reason she didn’t know, eyes growing large.

“…Professor?”

In reply, the heap coughed.

“Professor!” She was running now, exhausted legs carrying her as quickly as she could manage, her knees giving out when she reached him. She reached out but hesitated, unsure of how to help, or knowing exactly what was wrong, or what she had _done_ -

_“That_ was good enough,” Ozpin whispered.

Summer let out a little cry, wringing her hands. She didn’t see blood, but Ozpin was pale – white as death – and he looked as though she had somehow tossed him across the floor, dirtied and torn, his glasses cast aside, one of the lenses broken. She picked them up and handed them to him, hardly aware of her own actions.

“I’m so sorry!” she wailed, tearing stinging her eyes. “I – I don’t know what I did! Or how I did it!”

“Shh,” Ozpin said, holding up a hand. “It’s all right, Miss Rose. You only responded as I expected you.”

“I…I did?”

He nodded, holding out a hand. “If you would be so kind?”

“Oh!” Summer took his hand, pulling as he sat up, his other hand cradling his sides. “Sir, you’re hurt.”

“Mostly my pride,” the headmaster said, even as Summer caught the wince that crossed his face. “And perhaps a broken rib or two.”

Summer made another plaintive noise. _She broke the headmaster’s ribs and he was going to fail her and she was the worst person in Vale -_

“Miss Rose.”

She broke out of her stream of thought, silver eyes meeting the brown gaze of her professor.

“Your glasses are cracked,” she said.

Ozpin smiled.

“You did well.”

“I…sir…?”

“No, please do not protest. I know I pushed you very hard today, and that I said things that were harsh. I said them because you needed to hear them, and to conquer them. Do you understand?”

“…I think so.”

He paused, taking a long breath. She felt rather than heard the soft sound of pain that left his lips.

“Professor, let me take you to the infirmary. Please.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Miss Rose. You cannot be an official part of any injuries to myself or others when training. I will call Professor Agrios and she will make the proper arrangements.”

“I’m sorry!” The tears came freely now, exhaustion and fear and anger all leaving a great hole in her, sadness filling it in. “I didn’t know it would be like that!”

“I did,” Ozpin said quietly, taking her hand. He squeezed her fingers lightly. “With practice, calling upon those powers will become easier, and you will be able to control your strength. For now, it will be raw power.”

“You…” Summer hiccupped, processing his words from behind the veil of tears. “You thought I would hurt you?”

“I knew you would, Miss Rose.”

She sniffled, wiping her eyes with her free hand. “But…why? Why not tell me?”

“You’re kind, Miss Rose,” Ozpin said, his eyes closing. “Had I told you, you would have held back for fear for injuring me.”

“Why do this? Why do it alone?”

He gave her hand another squeeze, his smile sad. “Because no one else can,” he said. “Come now, dry those tears and help an old man back on his feet.”

Summer tried to laugh, the sound bubbling out like a soft sob, accepting Ozpin’s weight as he steadied himself up, leaning on both her and his cane. She tried to ignore the pangs of guilt as she helped him walk slowly across the warehouse to the elevator; she had never known him to be an expressive man but even she could hear the strain in his breathing, the soft, pained hitches that came as they moved. 

He reached into his coat for his scroll as they approached the elevator.

“Ferra,” he said. “I have a favor to ask.”

A pause, and then –

“Yes. If you could meet me in the basement laboratories at your earliest convenience, I will require your brief assistance. Thank you.”

Ozpin disconnected and palmed the scroll, motioning at the wall. “If you would just leave me hear, Miss Rose, Professor Agrios will be down to assist me in a moment.”

“Just…leave you?” Summer hesitated. Her job was to be Huntress, and a Huntress did not leave someone who needed help.

“I assure you, I have had worse injuries than this and survived – in one way or another. You have done your part; now, please go and rest. I promise I am in good hands.”

Summer nodded, still miserable with how badly the training had gone, but eager to help Ozpin however she could.

“And, Miss Rose, if any rumors of my injuries should arise, you know nothing about how it happened.”

“Yes, Professor.”

The elevator dinged, Professor Agrios stepping off. She looked at Summer as though surprised to see her, gold eyes drifting to the sorry state of her boss. Her mouth fell open.

“Sir!”

“Now, now, Ferra, it’s not as bad as it seems – “

“Because it’s probably _worse!_ Look at you! You look like you were chewed up by an Ursa! What happened?”

“A misstep in a training exercise,” the headmaster said. “Thank you, Miss Rose, that will be all.”

Summer nodded and slipped onto the elevator amidst the shrill protests of Professor Agrios and the calm, soft deflections of her employer. She sighed when the doors closed, the elevator encasing her in silence. 

She wasn’t sure she believed everything Ozpin told her – that these powers were a good thing, that she would learn to use them to save people. But she did at least know that if anyone could train her to use them, it was Professor Ozpin.

“I promise I am in good hands,” he had told her.

She didn’t believe that at all. He was alone in ways Summer couldn’t see, alone in his tower and alone in his dark basement, alone in his secrets.

She stepped off the elevator into the main hall, her sadness ebbing, replaced with something warmer, something stronger.

Summer had good hands – or she would, in time – and Ozpin could rely on those.

***

Two days into his strictly confidential this-never-happened-if you-are-caught-swallow-poison mission, Qrow Branwen could finally understand why people wanted to become Huntsmen: no one telling what to do, what not to steal, ruling over your life in false pretense of family values...it was the ultimate freedom.

"Can I help you, young man?" The fruit vendor, a stout burly woman resembling a freight train if she got riled, eyed Qrow suspiciously. Likely from him loitering for the last twenty minutes for his mark.

"Oh dearie me, I seem to be lost. Would you be a doll and help a poor fella in distress?" Qrow laid on the charm thick, his acting skills refined from years of talking his way out of all the shit his semblance had gotten him into. Okay, maybe it wasn't _just_ his semblance - 50/50? – regardless, the skills remained. Which was good since he'd already pilfered an apple from the vendor in question fifteen minutes ago. Temptation and all. 

It's a sin to resist it, right?

Qrow leaned back, running a nervous hand through thick locks in search of some mysterious destination.

The vendor raised an eyebrow, but the freight train remained undeterred. "Where 'bouts are you headed?"

The teen shifted his feet nervously, then leaned in, mimicking the soft timid whisper he'd heard Tai use when he was scared on team-building missions. "Kuchinashi. But I heard it's full of undesirables, ma'am, and I ain't to keen on goin' there if ya can understand. You see, I'm from a settlement north of Vale, small town with not a whole lotta action. 'Fraid the only instructions I received 're 'look tough and keep yer trap shut,' and so ah...Is there any extra security in the area I could persuade to come my way? "

_Nailed it._ The vendor's suspicion melted away to concern for the poor traveler, "Kuchinashi? Why on earth would they send such a young boy down that way? They've got nothing but bandits down there."

_Raven's - our tribe,_ he thought with amusement, watching her face contort with displeasure.

"Well, ya see, I just need to drop this lil ol' package off, then be on my way like a bat outta hell." Qrow tapped the apple in his pocket three times for good luck. 

_Luck. Who needed it when you could outsmart it?_

The vendor nodded sympathetically, draping one log of an arm over his back, guiding him to face the southern town gates. "We only have the government here - meaning they only really protect you in the city. The gates at any rate since we're peaceful inside. But Kuchinashi...that far south, you may have to hire a Huntsman. They're much better than any of the guards you'll see here on 'counta they go to the fancy academies. Now you see that guard over there?" she continued when Qrow nodded, wide-eyed like a kid impressed by the force of the military. "He'll be able to help you. Ask for his brother, Earl. He's a real Huntsmen.”

"Why, thank you kindly ma'am." Qrow bowed deep – 

\- and his arm knocked over the pillar of the nearest canopy stand. 

The crash of the collapsing woodwork came an instant later.

Qrow knew in an instance what had happened. He also knew the children he'd seen roaming the markets were going to take advantage of the chaos he'd caused and likely the other vendor would blame him for being their distraction -

Which was exactly how he'd found himself in cuffs leaning against the side of the local jail, roasting in the sun as the freight train bickered with the guards on behalf of the 'poor lonely traveler's character.' Qrow almost felt bad for deceiving her as he enjoyed his liberated apple, but then again if she was too enraged at the injustice thrust upon Qrow, who was he to stop her from saving him? Besides, she looked like she'd been in desperate need to let of some steam for the last decade. Least he could give her a good cause.

And now he had a good cause to leave, his vision honing in on his target in the distance.

Qrow wiped the juice from his mouth on his sleeve, replacing the core among the sassy fruit vendor's goods - it was the least he could do for her troubles. He then springing the lock on his hand cuffs with ease, disappearing to complete his mission.

Man, freedom felt good.

***

Three days, eight hours, and twenty-six minutes into Qrow's mission, Professor Ozpin's scroll pinged with the familiar tone he'd been driving himself mad to hear.

He had seized the device with such enthusiasm that his body responded with violent protest, the shock rippling from his rib cage to the fingers that attempted to unlock his scroll. For a moment he had to pause and let the pain subside, unable to take a breath for the sharpness that objected to full lungs. Doctor Flax had warned him the pain would take some time to dissipate - the headmaster's Aura was entirely depleted after attempting to shield himself from Summer Rose's power. This Ozpin had expected, and so the ribs remained broken.

Ozpin let out a small groan, unlocking his scroll at last, eyes eager for confirmation of Qrow's safety at last.

"If I borrow something, but don't return it in the same state, is there some sort of obligation to do anything?" he read.

The relief was immense even in the face of the ache in his ribs. 

"You're late," Ozpin typed back.

The next rapid ping served to soothe the man further, despite whatever frivolous conversation Qrow insisted upon, for it meant he was safe.

"Aw, come on, lecturing me before I even report?" the message read, followed moments later by another merry ping - this time from the elevator. 

Qrow Branwen smirked, hands on his hips, confidence permeating the room.

Ozpin was on his feet without thinking - _Qrow always was the only person alive who could surprise him_ \- and just as quickly doubled over his desk.

The pain was worse than he recalled from the last time he had broken ribs - how many lives ago? Even the gasp hurt, the expansion of his lungs working against him, an arm around his side automatically, the other holding himself up. But even through his red, pain-tinged sight the relief of seeing Qrow returned safely was enough, that damnable smirk always on his face, that cursed necessity to do what was not expected of him.

"Ozpin!" 

Ozpin felt the weight of his body lifted from his frame, Qrow already at the headmaster’s side and easing him into his chair. 

"What the fuck happened?" the student demanded, scanning the office for threats.

"Merely forgetting my old age," Ozpin managed, hearing the wince in his voice. "Thank you, but you can lower your guard. This was...an accident."

Qrow glared.

_Not good enough,_ his hard stare seemed to say. 

What excuse would Qrow buy? _Not many,_ Ozpin mused, fingers easing off the armrests of his chair. 

"It was a training exercise," he said at length.

The boy's heavy stare remained unimpressed and undeterred. 

"Summer.”

_So he knew._

Despite his firm grip tightening around the professor's arm, Qrow was concerned, and perhaps showing it the only way in which he knew how, Ozpin suspected.

Ozpin kept his face blank, but clearly, he had some other tell that Qrow had divined and noticed.

"Miss Rose never laid a hand on me," the headmaster said. "Not...technically."

Qrow remained unamused.

Ozpin took a careful breath, cradling his side. "I realize that I am asking a great deal of you and your team right now with my requests that you keep my secrets for me. I have been keeping a close eye on your team, Qrow. Such...raw power. You, your sister, Miss Rose...if I could harness that by the time you graduate..."

There was too much to say and yet these secrets were still his to carry. Ozpin looked up at his student, sighing. 

"You have a tremendous amount of talent, Qrow. You and your sister alike. However, I only have the trust of one of you. Your _team_ only has the trust of one of you. At the moment my requirements of your leader are...severe. She needs to lean on her team, and I have not allowed that. I must know that I can trust all four of you implicitly."

The student allowed the silence to stretch on - whether to punish Ozpin or consider his plea, Ozpin could not be certain, until at last Qrow relinquished the professor's arm. 

"Fine," the young man said, punching his knuckles against the glass desk with more force than intended. His emotions - so volatile - were becoming clearer: he was frustrated. Maybe even angry. 

How curious his mood shifted so dramatically.

The desk groaned again, this time under the young man's propped weight and folded arms.

"If you trust me, I'll trust you. That's how it goes where I'm from." Qrow hesitated, undoubtedly debating the wisdom of sharing the next bit of information. 

Ozpin remained silent, watching a frustrated hand run its course through tangled hair.

"I've put together some things. Like you training Summer. You like fairy tales too much," he warned. "Your turn. Details. ‘Cause no one's allowed to kick your ass but me or Agrios."

"I hardly think either of you can 'kick my ass,'" Ozpin repeated, amused.

"Deflection," Qrow snapped.

_Ah._ So it wasn't a negotiation. 

"Very well," Ozpin said. "A trade of trust, then. Please do note that my trust comes with two requirements."

"Name ‘em."

"Firstly, that you do not speak a word of this to your sister or Mr. Xiao Long. At the moment, this information is strictly need-to-know."

"And the other?"

"...that you _do_ speak about this with Miss Rose," Ozpin said. "I have no doubts as to her ability to lead, but a team leader without her team...please, Qrow, let her know that you are there to support her. It will make a world of difference."

Another bout of silence from the young man, this time more obvious in his intention to ponder, before he spoke again. "Fine. There will be _things_ I can't tell you. Specifically about Raven...and me. But I agree to your terms on this," he said extending his hand, Ozpin suspected, purposefully towards the headmaster's injured left side.

A power play, Ozpin mused, as though punishing him for concealing information that Qrow somehow felt entitled to know.

Ozpin accepted nonetheless, lowering his head just enough to conceal the wince on his face. 

"There are...some things that cannot be easily explained," Ozpin began, "through what we know of Auras, of Semblances - what we call science. The universe, it seems, is not so simple. Tell me, Qrow, what is your favorite fairy tale?"

Qrow snorted. "Hell if I know. My parents weren't exactly the kind who read to us at night."

"I see. Well, many of what we call fairy tales these days are...interpretations of historical events, in times unlike how we live today. There were - are - those who carry something more within them."

Qrow narrowed his eyes. "Summer."

Ozpin gave him a small smile. "And myself."

"Something like...what? A special Semblance?"

"Something like…magic," Ozpin said.

Qrow's expression flattened into disbelief. 

Ozpin picked up his mug and sipped at his coffee, turning it toward the student, who peered inside suspiciously. He replaced it on the desk and ran his fingers down the ceramic, closing his eyes against the green glow that appeared there. He had not done magic in a long time, but as always it was easy to find within him, a soft emerald current that moved through him like warm blood. It flowed over the mug and then retreated back within him, leaving only the fading green spots behind his eyes. 

Qrow was staring, waiting for whatever miracle he expected Ozpin to perform.

The headmaster lifted the mug, tipped it upside down, and watched the black feathers drift lazily to the floor.

Qrow’s expression smoothed into disbelief.

Qrow stared unblinkingly at the black feathers, as though his personal suspicions rose to the surface. 

With each deep dark secret Ozpin dared share, they were becoming closer - closer to sympathizing causes, closer to understanding one another. By the time the young man's eyes reached Ozpin, the headmaster knew nothing more required explanation.

Qrow now knew a part of Ozpin few had ever known.

"...you're fucking with me,” Qrow said at last.

"And here I thought it was a rather lovely little demonstration," Ozpin said, regarding the feathers on the floor. "It was a sacrifice of coffee that should warrant at least some mild amount of awe."

"It'll warrant some amount of my foot up your ass if you get hurt during a lesson again. How did it even happen?" the boy asked heatedly. "If everything is so fucking dangerous, if you know so much - why risk it? You're the headmaster of the goddamn academy. If you die -"

"Is _that_ why you're upset with me?" Ozpin said, eyebrows raising. "Because I was injured?"

"Yes! She has silver eyes, Oz! If that means what the myths say, then-" Qrow repressed a roar with a murmur, the mix causing both hands to fly through his hair, this time staying to pull at the strands. "I don't like this unsupervised shit. I want to be there.”

"So you know about that," the headmaster said, raising an eyebrow. "Your parents may not have read to you, but you seem to have done well enough on your own.”

“So – what? You’re teaching her to use her powers? Why? To be a better Huntress?”

“Yes, precisely that.”

“You’re doing a shit job if you ended up like this after.”

“Yesterday was the first time she had unlocked her power. The extent of my injuries...are not uncommon when that happens."

"Great. And I'll be there to help next time. You said you wanted us to trust each other. That means action to back your promises. What better way than for her to see I won't let her kill you?"

"You absolutely won't be there next time," Ozpin said. "You don't possess the strength of Aura to withstand that manner of power. It would be utterly irresponsible to allow it."

"Ozpin. I'm bad luck personified, but I'm not the only one it works against. I do have _some_ control over it and if I need to, I'd save you with it. I'd just have to pay the price later."

"It's too dangerous," the headmaster said, hearing the clip in his voice. 

"All the more reason to have someone there to make sure you don't die."

"Qrow, even I don't possess the Aura to shield us both if she loses control - and she will. It will take some time for her to reel in her power."

“So she’s gonna break your bones every time until then?” Qrow asked, almost shouting now.

“That is the price I have to pay.”

“That’s stupid! Can’t you – can’t you use your so-called magic – “

“It’s not enough – “

“That’s why you need me!”

Silence fell, the tension making the air thick.

Ozpin suppressed a twinge of irritation. "This is not a matter in which I intend to yield," he said. "I've conceded to giving you missions; you must let me handle this as I always have."

"You don't have to concede. You just have to look the other way like you always do when I enter the room. Summer will want me there - team moral support or whatever." He waved his hand dismissively. 

"Somehow, I don't think we will reach an accord," the headmaster sighed. "I simply cannot in good conscience allow it, Qrow. For me, it's a few broken ribs. For you...I shudder to consider."

"Then I'll test her powers myself when you're not around to supervise," Qrow countered.

"You will do nothing of the kind!" Ozpin tried to stand but the stab in his side ripped the breath from him until he sank back, clutching the armrest of his chair. The thought of a mere student facing the strength of silver eyes – 

"You're in no shape to be orderin' me to do anything, old man. I need to be ready for what shit may hit the fan if she gets triggered when you're not around. The _team_ needs to know what we're workin' with if we're gonna work together. That's what you want, right? Teamwork? Ain't gonna happen if she's too scared to use her powers ‘cause we aren't prepared. This _has_ to happen or we can't trust shit. Accept I'm sticking around and move on, or I'll start gambling with my luck." 

The boy arched an eyebrow, daring Ozpin to defy his demands.

Ozpin reclined slowly, too tired now to mask the pain that Qrow no doubt read on his face. 

Qrow was almost certainly not bluffing, and even if there was a chance he was, could Ozpin live with himself to risk it?

No, he couldn't gamble two lives so recklessly.

_Checkmate._

"At least allow me some time," Ozpin said softly, his fingers relaxing as the pain ebbed. "I will need at least a few weeks before my Aura can stand it again."

"Done. I'll talk to Summer while we're waitin'. Cheer her up. Until then, no secret power meetings without me."

"As you wish," Ozpin said. Even his voice sounded tired now, worn down by his injuries and worries and now _blackmail._ "Just promise me you won't do anything reckless, Qrow. Trust for trust. I need to hear that."

This time the teen held his hands up in clear view. "You have my word, Ozpin. Whatever you think it's worth from a bandit. It has to work both ways and it's too early for me to piss off someone in your position when I still have two years under your command."

"Thank you." Ozpin looked at his empty mug, now lamenting his wasted coffee. "I...will need to debrief you regarding this mission, but..." The thought was exhausting when only an hour ago he had been more than eager.

"I wear boxers."

For a moment Ozpin stared, his lips twitching despite the levity of the situation. "Please don't make me laugh," he murmured. "It hurts more than I care to admit."

"Alright, alright. Truth be told I go commando most of the time anyway.”

"That is information I certainly did not need to know," Ozpin said, suppressing a chuckle with a wince. 

“We’re…we’re cool, right?” Qrow asked. “I mean, I doubt most students dream of blackmailing their headmaster, but I’m doing it to save your skin.”

Ozpin paused. The truth was he was more than a little conflicted regarding Qrow’s methods, and yet Qrow believed he was doing so from a position of concern. 

_You are literally asking to put your life down alongside my own. I may think it misplaced, naive even, but..._

“Yes,” the headmaster said. “I think we are ‘cool.’”

“Then I’m good to go?”

“Yes.”

Qrow nodded, pushing back his chair.

“And Qrow?”

The student glanced back at the professor.

“…thank you.”

The casual shrug of the boy's shoulders implied Qrow knew the exact reason for Ozpin’s gratitude. "It's the point being a Huntsman, isn't it? They risk their lives every mission. This is just one of my missions. Teamwork. Yay."

_Still so afraid to admit he cares,_ Ozpin thought, pressing his lips together to hide a smile.

"I see," he said. "Yes, that is their purpose. I'm glad to see the lessons are beginning to stick. Please, do give my regards to Miss Rose, and let her know I'm doing well. I know she's been worried."

"Can do," Qrow said.

"And Qrow? Perhaps...reassure her I'm not in any pain."

Qrow met his eyes for a long moment.

"You're lucky I'm a good liar."


	8. In which Qrow makes an ally of Summer, STRQ pranks resume, and Raven begins to question her mission

Qrow didn’t want to waste any time upon returning to his dorm room. Given the state Professor Ozpin was in, he was willing to bet Summer was stifling tears in the corner of her dorm bed – too quiet to warrant asking, but too loud to ignore.

He wasn’t wrong.

“Hey, Summer.”

“Qrow!” she shouted a whisper. 

“You, ah…wanna go for a walk?”

“Wha- Y-you just got back.”

Qrow held up a hand to cut her off, simply nodding to the doorway. By now, Summer was familiar enough with the gesture after witnessing the twins’ silent conversations. 

The bed protested when she rose, the mattress having grown too fond of her melancholy presence since the incidence.

They didn’t speak until they reached the cool evening air of the courtyard, both knowing that their secrets couldn’t be risked by eavesdropping students.

“About Ozpin -“ Qrow began.

“Oh, Qrow! You’ve seen him?! I-… He looks terrible!” she sobbed.

“He told me what happened.”

Silence. Disbelief? 

_Relief._

“He-he told you?”

“Yep.”

“About -“

“Yep.”

“But why?”

“He said you needed someone to confide in. And that you don’t need to worry about hurting us ‘cause I’ll be around to protect the team. Ozpin’ll be fine.”

“So…”

“Yeah. Silver eyes. Pretty cool, huh?” he offered a gentle smile.

“ _Cool?_ No. It’s terrible! You have no idea how terrible it is knowing you lost control and-… I completely blacked out and almost _killed_ my mentor!” she hissed. “The _headmaster!”_

Qrow remained silent, allowing Summer the peace of a breakdown held in for far, far too long, his only response a comforting arm across her shoulders patting her back.

 _This is what you’re supposed to do, right?_

The fact of the matter was, between his upbringing and Semblance, Qrow knew all too well what it felt like.

Hell, silver eyes would have been the least of his problems – he was a threat to anyone he had the potential to care about and he didn’t even have super powers.

"I just...can't risk hurting someone else. I don't know what I'd do if I hurt someone else. What if it isn't Ozpin next time? What if it isn't someone strong enough to handle it? What if I ki-"

"Summer," Qrow cut her rambling spiral short, turning the girl abruptly to face him. Qrow needed her as an ally. He needed _Ozpin_ as an ally. All watching the headmaster taught him was that he and Raven knew little of the world's secrets, but he sure as hell didn't like what he'd found in his research.

No, Ozpin was desperate for help, and if he was desperate for help, then running away wasn't going to solve jack shit. A war was probably coming and no one was safe from what he'd read - not him, not Raven, not her- their tribe. Nope. Life was about to get a whole lot more complicated, so Qrow had to make sure he moved fast. If he didn't harness Summer's power, Ozpin's power...they didn't stand a chance. Gone in the blink of an eye.

Hell, even if he was wrong, Qrow sure as shit didn't want someone with Summer's power out there hunting _him_ down.

And so here he was. Sharing secrets he'd never thought to utter, trusting someone he never expected to trust.

"You know those rumors everyone's always sayin' about me and Raven?"

"What?" she shook her head not understanding the topical connections. "Y-you mean like raised by Beowolves?"

"Yea, those. They aren't really wrong."

"What?" she asked, her shocked inflection breaking through her sorrow.

"You already guessed we weren't from around here."

"Yes, but! I don't know I always thought that meant you were from a small village and had never been to a city-"

"Kinda. Raven and I...we were bandits."

His teammate's jaw drop said it all. Horror, fear, anxiety...

"You- you," she stammered. Qrow braced himself for a slap.

"You poor things!" She threw her arms around Qrow, nearly squeezing the life from him.

"Sum- Summer!" He wiggled under her affection, struggling for breath. "Air!"

"Oh!" She loosened her grip, she but didn’t release her teammate. "Sorry."

"'Sok. Just...calm down. We were fine. _Are_ fine," he insisted, wiggling an arm free. "It was just how we grew up, and ‘cause of it, we'll - I'll be able to withstand whatever you've got hidden behind those silver eyes of yours, okay?" he said, brushing stray strands of brown from wide metallic eyes.

They were definitely less threatening when covered in tears – then again, that was probably a good tactic he could use in the future against whatever enemy they had to face.

 _Shit._ He really was switching sides.

But was it really a choice when the obliteration of the world as they knew it was at stake? Ozpin hadn't confirmed one way or the other, but deep down Qrow knew: Ozpin wouldn't have risked pushing Summer otherwise, wouldn't have risked his life and the life of the happiest student on campus.

Yep. Intuition was a bitch.

But it kept him alive.

"Qrow," Summer whimpered, burying her face in his chest. "I don't want to hurt anyone..."

"You won't. I'll be there to stop it."

"...like I did Ozpin..."

“Ozpin is fine. I just saw him. Barely a scratch.”

“Really?”

Qrow swallowed the truth against that wide-eyed stare. 

_Just lie._

“He’s the headmaster, Short Stack. Even your fancy eyes can’t hurt him.”

“But what if I hurt you?”

"Me? I'm a cockroach. Besides, I could use my Semblance and - " 

The glare she gave him was not impressed.

"Ah...still a cockroach. With or without the luck. You couldn't kill me if you tried."

She responded with a frustrated headbutt to his chest; he responded by stroking her back.

"It will be fine, Sum. With good ol' Ozpin _and_ me, you don't stand a chance." He tilted her head to meet his gaze and winked at her.

"...you really are horrible," she said at last. "Bandits?"

"Yep."

"Daily life or death?"

"Yep."

"How did you - ?" She shook her head, answering her own question. "Never mind. You're right. You're a cockroach."

"That's the spirit," Qrow chuckled, ruffling her hair. "Now let's go get some of that ice cream Raven told me you inhaled."

"Really?" She perked up immediately.

"My treat."

She stepped back, eyeing her teammate skeptically. "You didn't steal the money, did you?"

Qrow laughed. "Nope. One of the perks working for Oz, free ice cream."

" _YOU too?_!"

"Yep. But shhhh," he held a finger to her lips, "it's a secret."

She nodded knowingly, taking his hand and leading Qrow the direction of her favorite ice cream shop. "If he trusts you to join us...then I guess I'll have to too!"

There it was. Summer's smile returned.

And it was infectious.

***

"If the condom breaks, should I be worried? Purely hypothetical."

Professor Ozpin read the text with his coffee at his lips, entirely forgotten. It was scarcely past eight in the morning on a foggy Saturday, and he had only just sat down to his email when his scroll beeped with what he considered a very suspect message.

This was completely out of his school's curriculum.

He put his mug down and typed a rapid message back.

"Is there something I should know regarding this hypothetical inquiry, Mr. Branwen?" 

He paused for half a beat before adding a polite, "Good morning, by the way."

"Good morning, Professor. And I'm not sure it's something you want to know."

A second passed before another message: "Things got a little messy last night, but I'm going to try to fix it before she finds out."

Ozpin stared at this series of messages, lips slightly parted. He didn't realize he was tilting his mug until coffee slipped over the side, splattering on the glass desktop. 

He couldn't decide which mess to clean up first, opting after a moment's debate to see to the most urgent.

"Qrow. If the young lady in question requires medical attention, I would urge you to tell her the situation as soon as possible."

"I wouldn't say it's THAT serious. I'm pretty sure we can take care of it without her even knowing. Tai might have some trouble though. More than one of his broke. He forgot when we were messing around and...well. I've got his back. Had it last night too. What are buddies for, right?"

Ozpin could only blink at his scroll in disbelief. Certainly, this had to be one of Qrow's pranks. The headmaster could think of no other reason why the student would be inclined to say such careless things to a professor. 

Their relationship may have slipped from strictly professional to something more relaxed (Ozpin still couldn’t bring himself to correct when Qrow called him “Oz”), and yet _this -_

"The standards of modern social code between gentlemen aside," Ozpin typed, "this sort of incident is hardly as casual as you seem to think. Perhaps this is something we should discuss in person."

"Sure. Let me just clean up what I can first."

Thirty agonizing minutes later, Qrow Branwen strolled into the headmaster's office, jacket, button down and tie missing from his school uniform leaving white undershirt and slacks - his garb noticeably unusual given the Saturday morning. Hands stuffed in pockets, he strolled casually over to Ozpin's desk and sat in the chair opposite the headmaster.

Ozpin had looked up as the elevator pinged, raising an eyebrow at the student's appearance. 

"Why don't we begin with what happened," the headmaster said. "With some...necessary discretion, of course."

"We were fucking around - sorry. Language. We were messing around and we forgot where we hid the condoms, so as the night went on, Tai just kinda...went for it anyway without the condoms," Qrow said, shrugging. "He got it all over my uniform. Raven's bed is ruined. I think I got Summer after creaming Tai's from the back. Long story short, I think I came out on top..."

Qrow paused as though trying to remember the order of events from the previous night. "Eventually we found the condoms, so we could go at it harder. You know, easier to clean up? But we got really into it and started to go out into the hallway. Then I thought I heard Agrios, so we all ran back in the dorm and pretended to sleep before we got caught with our pants down, so to speak." Another pause before he finished, "Raven has no clue and will kill us if she finds out. Well, kill Tai."

In all of Ozpin's years as Beacon's headmaster, he could easily claim this to be the most horrifyingly brash story a student had ever told him. 

"I..." 

Words utterly failed him. He stared at Qrow for so long the student shifted uncomfortably.  
Not uncomfortably enough.

"You seem...rather calm about telling me all this," the headmaster said at last.

"Well, yeah. I mean it's not like we can't clean it up. Some of it might stain, but I think we know a first year with a Semblance that can help with that..."

"Oh, goodness, no," Ozpin said. "I cannot allow you to involve a minor in this. I'm afraid the cleaning will belong to you and Team STRQ alone."

"Ugh. Fine. But Raven's bed is a lost cause then. There's no way I can get that out without industrial - oh hey, can I borrow some of the kitchen cleaning products?"

Ozpin sighed, regretting for not the first time allowing himself to take full responsibility for Qrow's misbehavior.

"Are you _sure_ you want Team STRQ to form?" Ferra had asked him, not quite two years prior. "As headmaster, you could overrule the initiation, given that this team is likely to implode. Or explode. Or destroy the school."

"I'm sure it will be fine," he had said.

Now the headmaster rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, thinking of how much coffee would be required to find the energy Team STRQ had just stolen from him. 

"I'll see that new sheets are sent up to your dorm," Ozpin said. "For your entire team."

Qrow brightened, perking up from his chair, "Thanks, Ozpin. Do…do you have any recommendations for the smell?"

The headmaster closed his eyes, trying to ignore the faint heat on his face. In _all_ his years...

"I'll have the janitorial staff bring you any necessary cleaning products," he said. "Although cleaning up alone hardly seems like adequate sanctions for this...incident."

"Oh, come on. It was just some ketchup and mustard...maybe some jello and whipped cream too. We've done way worse before without getting caught."

Ozpin blinked, the story's perspective suddenly turned upside down.

"What?" he said.

“Condiments gotta wash out eventually, right?” Qrow asked.

Ozpin stared.

“Right?” Qrow pressed.

The headmaster opened his mouth, closed it, and took off his glasses, rubbing both eyes with one hand.

“From the beginning,” he said, “if you please. No more discretion. I want every detail.”

Qrow shrugged.

"We filled the condoms with ketchup and mustard, and then hid them in the morning so we could ambush Summer later. I wanted a nice buzz, so I left Tai in charge of hiding them. He forgot where, so I had to switch it up. Since Tai was the one who forgot, I told Summer about his plan, so her and I got some whipped cream and jello and got him instead. In the middle of the fight, I found one of the stashes in the bed, so I pegged Tai from behind. He tried to dodge and landed on Raven's bed where he apparently popped another stash. The whole room smells like a fast food restaurant and Raven is going to kill us if we don't clean it up before she gets back."

The professor listened to the story's revision with incredulity. When Qrow finished speaking, he tried to find some suitable response, but the shift in his point of view was so greatly skewed that he once more had his words robbed of him.

Instead he laughed. 

The act hurt, his damaged ribs still prone to stab and ache, but the ridiculousness of the situation was too much not to find it intensely entertaining, Ozpin almost shaking with amusement. At length he brushed at a misty eye, catching his breath to give Qrow a sideways glance. 

"A food fight," the headmaster said at last. "That's what this was? Or rather," he added, unable to restrain himself, "a condom-ment fight."

Qrow stared at Ozpin, blinking for a second before fully admitting the professor made a terrible pun. The room erupted with laughter. "Oh man...shit, Oz I thought you were gonna- heheh- gonna kill me for a minute...you shoulda seen the look on your...'condom-ment fight'," he regressed to giggling. "That is so...so bad," Qrow said, taking time to wipe eyes dry and catch his breath.

Ozpin restrained the desire to join in, his ribs demanding from respite. 

"You deserve every terrible pun I can make regarding this incident," the headmaster said. "For goodness' sake, I thought you had - well. Never mind that. Why in the world wouldn't you use balloons for your fight?"

Qrow shrugged. "We were out from last time." The boy's grin indicated he knew exactly where the headmaster's mind had roamed. 

The grin was too telling; Ozpin cleared his throat, the heat creeping up his face again. 

"I see. Well. It sounds like you've done quite a bit of damage to your dorm. The sheets and bed covers can be easily replaced, and hopefully you can handle the rest yourselves. Do you believe that is punishment enough for this incident?"

"I do," Qrow replied, still grinning as he rose for a bow. 

“Not to change the subject,” Ozpin said, “but this…incident was on behalf of Miss Rose? I hesitate to suggest that this was meant to cheer her up.”

“It was,” Qrow announced. “She had a blast. I think it got her mind off things for a while.”

“And you…spoke with her?”

“Yeah. She has an idea what I’m doing for you, but nothing detailed. Just so she knows we’re in her corner.”

“Thank you, Qrow. I deeply appreciate it.”

“Enough to let me off the hook for cleaning up?”

Ozpin cut off his laugh, feeling his body’s painful objection. “Not quite that much.”

“All right,” Qrow said, rising from his chair. “That just means I gotta be extra creative in the future to impress you." 

“Yes, that is _exactly_ what I had in mind,” the headmaster said dryly.

"I at least expect this story to serve as a warning to the future professors hired at Beacon,” Qrow said, pushing the button for the elevator.

Ozpin tried to look stern but the boy's shameless bravado made it impossible. 

"It will make quite the story at the next faculty holiday party," the headmaster said. 

Qrow’s grin didn’t fade at all until the elevator doors closed on him.

***

Two days later, Raven Branwen waited outside the Beacon dormitories, sitting upon a heavy branch, red eyes watching the quiet building. Night had fallen hours ago, and Qrow still wasn’t back.

“Just going for a flight,” he had told her.

_Liar._

Qrow knew he couldn’t lie to her; why did he still try? Raven knew exactly where he was.

Her eyes flickered upward to the green glow of the headmaster’s office.

Winter was approaching quickly and Qrow still didn’t have a damn thing. The stories about etiquette lessons, about chess games – could it be true? Was that really all Qrow was doing up there? 

That was his story, in any case. 

Raven almost believed it.

Then there was the overnight mission. 

Just the one so far, to Mistral, Qrow said, just to deliver something to one of Ozpin’s friends.

_Friends._

Spies.

And _still_ Qrow had nothing valuable. Name? No. Face? He could only offer a vague description of a Huntsman with plain features. Did Qrow know what the package was?

Of course not.

Raven grit her teeth through the unsuccessful interrogation. It was like Qrow _wanted_ to annoy the hell out of her. Like he had learned how to be a Huntsman but forgotten how to be a bandit.

_Maybe he’s changed his mind._

The thought was fleeting, ridiculous. He was her twin, and they both shared a diehard loyalty to each other and to their tribe.

Qrow just needed a reminder of what was at stake. He needed to remember that Ozpin wasn’t their friend.

He was a target.

The doors of the clocktower creaked, the backlight of the warm interior shrouding their forms in darkness, masking their moods.

Summer’s songlike giggles carried across the courtyard shedding light on the night’s results: nothing. Raven knew if anything worthy of being relayed to her had occurred, Summer would be shifty, distant, and overall miserable.

Those were the nights Raven spoke to her – not because she cared – not really, she told herself, but because she needed results. Someone had to get them because her brother was proving himself to be utterly useless.

As if to prove her point, his rough chuckle chimed in unison with their roommate’s.

Raven rolled her eyes knowing undoubtedly that her twin had made some stupid pun yet again.

Always wasting time.

 _Finally._ Summer left her companion heading for their dormitory, Qrow waiting behind sensing his twin.

“Here for an update?” he asked into the stark night, still watching the direction Summer had wondered off to.

Raven hopped down from her perch, the two leaving a great distance between them.

“I’m here for results.”

“Not here,” he said finally turning towards his sister.

Neither spoke as they ventured to the forest outside the school grounds, Qrow easily avoiding the cameras he knew Ozpin had set up throughout the Academy. That was, perhaps, the only useful thing he had learned.

They came to a secluded clearing, each leaning against a tree opposite the other, folding their arms across broad chests.

“What did you learn tonight?” Sarcasm laced each syllable of Raven’s tone.

Qrow remained silent.

“You’re done,” she ordered, kicking off from the tree. A year and a half was far too long for her to entertain his stupid etiquette lessons and stupid meeting – half of which he returned from drunk.

She was done.

He was done.

“Wait,” he spoke finally.

“What? You found out how he takes his coffee?”

“We can use Summer,” he answered, undeterred.

Raven hesitated, grinding her jaw as she considered his words. 

“How?”

“She’s strong.”

“Of course she is, but that doesn’t mean-“

“She’s stronger than us,” Qrow finished, his neck cracking under the stressed stretch.

_Impossible._

“How?” she demanded again.

“Something like a hidden Semblance.”

“But we already know her Sem-“

“A second one.”

Raven cracked her knuckles, she was really getting annoyed with the cutoffs.

“Go on,” she said.

“There’s something bigger going on. Bigger than the academy. Bigger than the tribe. And if we don’t stop it, it will wipe us all out.”

“Details.”

Qrow shook his head, “I don’t have those right now.”

“Of course not,” she glared.

“Look, Summer is joining the fight because Ozpin asked her to. He trusted her to keep the secret. She did. That’s why you never got anything – “

“I got more than you ever did,” she countered using Qrow’s interruption tactic. “And you still don’t have anything. You stand there acting like the world is coming to an end when you have absolutely nothing to back it other than learning how to lift your pinky when sipping tea. You’re slipping. You’ve _slipped._ You’re no longer of use to me,” she said turning on her heel to leave.

She could get better results on her own.

“Raven!” Qrow roared, tearing her back to face him. “You don’t get it. We _will_ die. _Everyone_ will die. Summer she’s-“

“Fighting the good war! She’s swooning you with her innocence, she’s-“

“Cut the crap and fucking listen!” 

Raven could feel the bruise sprouting beneath Qrow’s grip on her arm. So he was serious.

“You have five minutes.”

“Ozpin chose her not only because she is the most trustworthy, but also because she _is_ the strongest. She hurt him. She hurt Ozpin. You can’t say that doesn’t mean anything…” Raven felt his eyes searching her – reading her. Yes, yes, damnit. She was listening.

“She’s the reason he’s been stiff,” Qrow continued. “If she becomes a Huntsman and comes after us... we don’t stand a chance. Not one of us. So we need to use her. Use Ozpin.”

Raven’s eyes narrowed to skeptical slits. “Join them, you mean.”

“…Sort of.”

“They’ve brainwashed you.”

“No!” he insisted, growling in frustration as he ran his hands through his hair. He only did that when it was serious.

So he was telling the truth.

“Fine. Suppose they could wipe us all off the face of the planet – what do you propose we do if we aren’t joining them?”

“An alliance.”

“How?”

He was pausing too long.

“I have to help them. They are starting to trust me and-“

Raven rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe he was trying to pull this bullshit on her of all people.

“Trust you? _Trust you_? If they trust you so much, how come you don’t have results?”

“Because it takes time!”

“A year and a half is too much time.”

He growled at her again. “Fine. Die. See if I care. But I am going to save my own ass the way I know how.” He released her arm with a careless toss as if discarding useless materials. 

That was her tactic. He wouldn’t resort to that unless - 

Aside from the various curses she’d learned running through her mind – courtesy of Qrow – she was left with one final thought: Qrow meant it. He meant all of it. And he wasn’t brainwashed.

“It’s serious then?” she asked at long last.

“Yes.”

“An alliance?”

“Yes.”

“…make it strong.”

“Do you think I’d bargain with my life on this one if I was going to make it weak?”

“Fine.”

The twins fell silent, eyeing one another, all suspicion.

“So, Summer,” Raven said at last.

“Yeah?” The word was harsh, defensive.

“She hurt Ozpin?”

“Raven, she broke his fucking ribs.”

Tiny, smiling Summer Rose? The thought was crazy – so crazy that it had to be true. 

_What kind of power did Summer have that could take on the headmaster?_

One that could keep her, Qrow, and the entire tribe safe from anything that came at them.

“Ozpin wants our team on his side?” Raven asked.

“He doesn’t trust you,” Qrow said.

 _Not as dumb as he looked, then,_ Raven thought. 

“I’ll tell him to be in touch,” Qrow said, turning on his heel.

Raven bristled at the dismissal, and at the statement that implied Raven would sit down and talk to Ozpin, cards on the table.

Her plans were rapidly unraveling and the thought unnerved her more than she could describe. But if Qrow was right, if Summer had powers that could take on professional Huntsmen, if there was _something_ out there that made even Ozpin nervous –

“Fine,” she murmured.

There was no response; Qrow was already gone.


	9. In which Qrow is innocent for once and Ozpin offers him more of his trust

Exam midterms crept ever closer and Qrow - for once - had spent two weeks studying the subject: theoretical origins of the Grimm based on historical philosophers and the evolutions throughout the millennia.

Man, was it _boring._

Just explain how to kill them and be done with it.

Qrow stuffed his notes into his messenger bag, pausing when a neon pink paper flew out.

_I swear, if this is another stupid threat or fake love confession..._

**EXAM KEY.**

_What. The. Fuck?_

Qrow skimmed the document, flipping it over on all sides. It definitely looked legit.

_Fuck._

Qrow scanned the room for whoever might have planted the document in his bag, Professor Lesca watching him closely from the front of the class - now approaching him for taking so long to leave.

The hell he was going to trust Lesca to believe him it was planted. And if Lesca convinced Ozpin, and Oz lost faith in Qrow…

"Mr. Branwen, is there a problem?" he asked, eyeing the boy's possessive hand over his book bag.

"Nope. Love letter. Some lucky lady wants to get frisky," he said, pawing the air mimicking a cat.

"Mr. Branwen, this is not the place for that sort of behavior. Need I remind you, this is a professional environment and we are training you to become an upstanding citizen to - "

"Nope. Got the memo. Gonna get laid. Thanks!" Qrow cut the man off and waved behind him leaving in a rush.

 _Shit, shit, shit. Why now? When he’d just gotten Ozpin to trust him._

He had to find Ferra Agrios. He had to –

***

The collision around the blind corner left much to be desired in the way of speed laws and air bags, Professor Agrios' papers flying from hand scattering to the floor. She skidded on her feet, her vision turning gold as she redirected her gravitational center.

The glow faded and she blinked at the student sprawled before her.

"Branwen," she said flatly.

_It was always Qrow Branwen._

Qrow beat her to the clean-up, sitting on his knees and picking up the professor’s papers as though eager to help. All papers gathered, she eyed him suspiciously. She had never seen him this helpful or this flustered before.

_There had to be a catch._

"Professor Agrios, I need to see you in your office right now. Please.” Qrow’s voice was tinged with desperation.

He’d never been this polite either. 

_Please? Did he know the meaning?_

All the more reason for suspicion.

She raised both eyebrows at his pleading tone, studying his face for evidence this was some prank, some waste of her time when she already had Ozpin wasting the rest of it.

"Come on, then," she said, taking the papers from the boy and nodding her head in the opposite direction. He followed her closely, almost tripping on her heels, saying nothing but shooting glances over his shoulder. 

_Definitely in trouble for something,_ Ferra thought.

She unlocked her office and ushered the student inside, taking a seat and looking at him expectantly. 

"So, Mr. Branwen," she said, "what has you darkening my doorway instead of the headmaster's today?"

"Someone planted an exam key in my bag," the student said, shuffling around his disorganized book bag to pull out the bright pink key, which he handed to the professor.

"There is no way it could have gotten in my bag unless someone put it there. I think they wanted to alert Lesca and get me expelled," he urged in unusual unsettled nature. The boy couldn't seem to sit still.

Ferra recognized the bright paper in the student's hands immediately, the usual shade the faculty used for exam keys. Ozpin's amused suggestion, naturally. 

"Oh, Mr. Branwen," she said, taking the paper with a shake of her head. "This is bad. Even for you. _Especially_ for you." She paused, thinking, watching the boy shift nervously in his seat. If this was a prank, a way to mitigate his own wrongdoing, it was clever. A clever plot and clever acting. 

Qrow Branwen was a lot of things, but he was never good at hiding his emotions. 

She sighed, tapping the paper against the desk. "Framed, were you? Well, stranger things have happened. Reed already has reason to dislike you and this'll be fuel for the fire." Another pensive tap, and then she reached for her scroll. 

"Professor Ozpin will need to set up the meeting. I'll go as a witness - of sorts."

The truth was that despite her conflicted feelings regarding Qrow's behavior, she didn't entirely dislike the boy. And she certainly liked Reed Lesca a lot less. 

"Professor. _Please,"_ he stressed. "I know I pull a lot of stupid shit, but I have more pride than this." _I’ve got too much on the line right now._ He planted his palms openly on her desk. "For once, I didn't do it. Someone planted it on me and the exam needs to be changed. For everyone."

She studied him again. The exam was tomorrow - a close call if Lesca needed to write a new one. It would be a bitch of a long night to rewrite it. And yet Ferra didn't mind the idea of the professor staying up all hours to do it. He could, and then Qrow was not wrong in turning in the leaked answer key. 

"All right," she said, firing off a quick text to the headmaster. "If His Highness in the clock tower deigns to answer in a timely manner -"

Her scroll pinged, as though out of spite.

"Please have Mr. Branwen brought to my office immediately. Reed will join us soon."

She sighed. "Of course he answers right away when it has to do with _you,"_ she muttered at Qrow. "Come on, up we go then." 

The boy didn't argue or even hesitate, following her orders without question. She was growing more convinced of his innocent - in this case - with every action. 

One thing did stick out to her, however. 

"May I ask why you didn't take this to Professor Ozpin?" she asked. 

"As much as I am in his office, you see me around school more and know shit I get into. I know the headmaster trusts me, but I don't need to cause a fucking avalanche by testing it. You know me almost as well as he does and you can't be accused of being biased." He paused in after thought adding, "Language. Sorry."

Yes, Qrow Branwen was fuming.

Ferra ignored the swearing. She had heard much worse, much more directed at herself, in much less concerning situations. Ozpin always cared more about courtesy than she did, and she was more inclined - for once - to take Qrow's side than listen to Ozpin.

Not that either of them could claim the bias Qrow said.

And Qrow wasn't wrong: Ozpin's trust ran deep, and yet once broken -

She didn't blame Branwen for being nervous. 

They reached the elevator in the main hall, the access light already green. 

"A word of advice, Branwen," she said, as the doors closed. "Don't argue directly with Lesca. He may be an idiot, but he is a teacher, so his word will carry more weight. Be polite to a fault. Use those lessons the headmaster gave you. It will impress him, or at least keep him from immediately believing the worst. When you give your story, stay calm. Be concise. Don't argue if Lesca - _when_ Lesca is quick to believe the worst. And don't, for the love of everything, call Lesca a moron again. It may be the truth but it won't help you in this case. Am I clear?"

Qrow nodded curtly, taking the mental notes.

The doors opened to the headmaster's office and for once, Qrow didn't stroll in as casually as he usually did; for once he didn't sit in his favorite chair; for once he hardly managed to make eye contact with the headmaster.

The student remained adjacent to Ferra - not hiding, but not demanding attention either. Oddly reserved for the wild young man.

The headmaster welcomed both student and professor into his office, pouring coffee from a silver pot. 

"Please, sit," he said, leaning back in his own chair. Brown eyes flickered toward Qrow over his glasses, as though questioning the boy's demure behavior.

"So," Ozpin said, once Ferra took a seat as forced the fidgeting student to follow suit. "It seems there has been an exam key leak."

"Mr. Branwen came to me after finding this in his bag, sir." Ferra offered the pink pages to the headmaster, accepting a cup of coffee in return. 

Ozpin took the papers, pausing for a moment to watch Ferra pour a generous amount of sugar in her mug. She caught his disapproving eye and tilted the sugar canister a bit more, willing to drink an overly sweet cup of only to watch him squirm at the desecration of his personal blend. 

Ozpin cleared his throat and looked away, focusing on the violently bright papers in hand. A moment's study brought him to the same conclusion that Ferra and Qrow had already made.

"This does appear to be genuine," the headmaster said. "Mr. Branwen, you found this in your bag immediately after class?"

The student nodded silently.

"And turned it into Professor Agrios after?"

"He nearly took out both of my legs sprinting to my office," Ferra said dryly. 

"I see. Well. I have already given Reed notice to prepare a new exam tonight. All that is left is to ascertain Mr. Branwen's role in this."

"He maintains his innocence," Ferra said, speaking for the boy who seemed inclined to stay quiet - and wisely so. "And sir, I think I believe him. He knows Lesca has a grudge. If he were to steal an exam, he would choose a less dangerous target."

"Now, Ferra, don't give Mr. Branwen ideas," Ozpin said, hiding a smile with his mug. "Although you have a fair point. "I think Reed's class recalls the Grimm incident rather well - well enough that Mr. Branwen would make an easy scapegoat.

"However," the headmaster continued, "this is a very serious matter. I consider academic dishonesty to be a personal slight against myself, my faculty, and the students who work hard at their studies to better themselves. If Mr. Branwen is not at fault, then it is imperative that we find out who is."

"I can speak with Mr. Port," Ferra said. "He usually edits Reed's exams and finalizes the key. I saw him in the faculty lounge yesterday."

"Very good. And I suppose we will need to speak with Reed himself when he - ah, there he is now."

Professor Lesca marched into the office, all indignation. He halted behind Ferra and Qrow, pointing accusingly at the student. 

"He _stole_ my exam?" he asked. 

"Good afternoon, Reed," Ozpin said. "Please, have a seat."

"Sir - this is too much. Really, it is! He's already made a mockery of my class before - this is too much! He _stole_ my exam!"

"No one has accused Mr. Branwen," the headmaster said. 

_"I_ do!"

Ferra, gritting her teeth simply from Lesca's proximity, snapped. "Oh, will you just sit _down,_ Reed!"

The professor shot her a glare, but his challenge of her authority ended there. Without further antagonization, Ferra grudgingly set aside her desire to throw her coffee at him.

Lesca took a seat, Ferra serving as a barrier between accuser and accused, Ozpin smiling pleasantly as the oblivious judge he was.

"There we are," he said, when Lesca settled to shoot angry looks at Qrow instead. "Why don't we handle this in a civilized manner. Reed, Mr. Branwen states that he found the key in his bag with no knowledge of where it came from. He went to Ferra immediately to turn it in."

"I _knew_ it," Lesca said, seething. "I thought I recognized the paper, but he told me..."

"Yes?" Ozpin asked.

"He told me it was a love letter."

"Did he." Ozpin raised his mug, his lips twitching.

"If he was innocent, why not just tell me?"

"Would you have believed him?" Ferra interjected. She was surprised by the strength of her defense for Branwen; the student had made her job hell from his first day, and yet she knew that if he ended up expelled, it had to be for his own crimes.

Lesca went silent, stewing in the obvious answer.

Ozpin glanced at his scroll when it chimed, eyes moving rapidly across incoming text.

"Mr. Port informs me that his mailbox in the faculty lounge was broken into this afternoon."

"Branwen isn't against a bit of vandalism," Lesca said.

"Reed, was Mr. Branwen in your class on time today?"

The professor paused, almost as if considering a lie. "Yes," he said at last. 

"Did he at any time leave your class? Say, for a trip to the restroom?"

"I don't recall so, no."

"Then I'm afraid he could not be your guilty party. Mr. Port definitively states that his mailbox was untouched before the start of class. Do you recall any students who may have left the room?"

Lesca hesitated, but the drop of his shoulders indicated an answer in the affirmative. 

"Mr. Royale," he said at last. "He was gone for at least ten minutes. Said he wasn't feeling well..."

"I see. The same Mr. Royale who has had a number of incidents with Mr. Branwen? A curious coincidence, Reed."

Lesca said nothing, his temper deflating. 

"I think an interview with Mr. Royale is in order. Reed, you're excused. You have an exam to write this evening, after all. Ferra, a word, if you please..."

She rose and circled the desk, taking instruction from the headmaster. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lesca lean in to said something to Qrow; the boy's hands clenched into fists on his thighs, but he did not react beyond that.

She wondered what fresh hell Professor Lesca was encouraging by his grudge against the most hot-headed student at Beacon.

***

As instructed, Qrow remained silent throughout the meeting up until he heard the closing of the elevator doors and the whoosh of it rushing to the ground floor.

Qrow ground his teeth for a solid twenty seconds before opening his mouth with a click of his jaw. He massaged the bruises he dug into his palms and flexed his fingers.

"I repeat, sir: Lesca is a moron. If I had done this, I wouldn't have turned it in and I sure as hell wouldn't have gone to Professor Agrios since according to him I'm your _pet."_

Qrow rose, unable to contain his aggression anymore, needing to pace.

"I appreciate you believing me. Both of you." He paused again as if searching for an explanation, "...it's useless to cheat in something that can get you killed in the real world."

"I should hope you find honesty a worthy virtue regardless of whether it is useful," Ferra said, only mildly lecturing, watching the student pace.

"Reed called you my pet?" the headmaster said over his coffee, amused. 

Ferra shot Ozpin an exasperated look. "Mr. Branwen, you need not thank us for doing our jobs. Rest assured I'll have this incident fully investigated. And sir, I would like Mr. Port to attend every class, to ensure Reed doesn't resort to any...petty behavior toward Mr. Branwen."

The headmaster was already typing on his scroll. "Of course. If you would be so kind as to attend the interview with Mr. Royale, I will be happy to leave the remainder of the investigation in your hands."

"Thank you, sir. Branwen, you're free to go."

"I'd like him to stay, actually," Ozpin said. "I think he could use a nice cup of tea."

"Very well, sir. I'll return when Mr. Royale becomes available."

"Thank you, Ferra, as always."

She sighed as she left for the elevator, as though weighing the amount of paperwork it would take to expel Royale. 

_It would be worth it._

"No offense, I don't think tea is going to help right now," Qrow said, once the elevator doors closed with a ping, still pacing.

Ozpin's eyes followed Qrow from side to side over the rim of his glasses. 

"Perhaps not," the headmaster said. "It's only natural to feel anger and indignation for the position you've been placed in. It's one thing for a student to frame another student - as inconsiderate as that alone may be - but to find yourself the possible target of a professor's misplaced wrath..."

He sipped his coffee, as though counting the number of turns the student took. 

"Qrow, I would like to ask a question, and I would like your absolute honesty." 

The student paused for a moment, turning red eyes on the professor.

Ozpin cleared his throat softly. "If I were to place Professor Lesca's career in your hands for judgment, would you be inclined to terminate his contract?"

The question distracted the student much more than he expected. "I would wait until I found a suitable replacement. He’s irresponsible and needs to be replaced before he gets someone killed. I know that is also what this academy is about - preparing for life or death situations, but he isn't even aware of the dangerous situations he makes. He doesn't recognize the risks when they slap him in the face. But like I said - he’s a moron. He doesn't deserve the trust of his students."

Qrow was thankful for the distraction, the shift of his attention, the analysis focusing him on logic rather than fury.

_Maybe Ozpin was still on Qrow’s side. Maybe Lesca wouldn’t be a problem soon._

It was almost too much to hope for.

***

_Fifty-seven turns about the office, fifty-eight…_

Ozpin’s eyes simply followed the boy’s nervous energy; he had not expected Qrow to defend his academic honor. But then again, Qrow was finally treating his time at Beacon seriously, and his newfound appreciation for his studies were now threatened by a professor more concerned with pride than truth.

It was all very concerning.

Qrow slowly resumed his pacing. "That and his ego is so inflated that one of the fourth years he is sleeping with is going to pop it very soon,” he said, breaking Ozpin’s train of thought.

Ozpin blinked, certain he had misheard the student.

“She already caught him sleeping with her teammate, but he has no clue," Qrow continued with a short sadistic chuckle. "Can't say I don't want to see the confrontation."

Ozpin, however, had frozen, his mug halfway to his lips. Slowly, he lowered the coffee.

“I beg your pardon?”

There was no conceivable manner that a professor at Beacon Academy would be guilty of such base claims.

Or so Ozpin was suddenly very desperate to believe.

The list of arguments against Professor Lesca's professionalism were strong enough without the addition of scandal. Everything Ozpin thought to say slipped out of grasp at Qrow's accusation. Immediately he sought to control the damage of such a claim, of the inevitable fallout should the worst be proven accurate. Lesca was reckless, yes, and young and potentially of interest to older students, but the man wouldn't so blatantly throw away his morals simply to laud his power over a student.

_But wasn't that exactly what he was already doing to Qrow?_

Qrow shrugged. “Not really surprising, is it? Girls like him ‘cause he’s good-looking.”

The headmaster leaned forward, clasping his hands on the top of desk. 

"Qrow, that's an extremely damning accusation to make of a professor. Do you have irrevocable evidence of these claims?"

"Besides the nauseating view of Lesca going at it burned into my corneas, no. But I can know the student. Students. I think they're on team TOPE. Pearl and I - ah," he cut himself off shaking his head. "Never mind. I know her and let's just say it's not surprising. Can't say I know the name of the other one but she sleeps on the bed next to Pearl's. I can point her out if you need."

"You've _witnessed -"_ The headmaster cut off the sentence, feeling heat rise to his face. "I see."

This was serious indeed - far more so than the stolen exam key. The shock of the accusations faded quickly, burning off with the slow growth of Ozpin's temper. Rarely did the headmaster deal with the darker parts of his anger, but this was not merely a breach in professionalism at his school. This was personal, to both the headmaster and to his students who had their trust so severely broken.

"Thank you, Qrow," he said, his voice soft to keep his temper down. "That would be very helpful. Once I have the names of the parties involved, I will require you to write and sign a statement of the facts as you know them so that I can begin the legal proceedings."

"'Legal proceedings?' They're adults." Qrow shook his head, not understanding. "Consenting adults. It's not like he's holding their grade over their heads - Pearl isn't even in his class this year."

"That's hardly the point," Ozpin said, his voice clipped despite his restraint. "As their professor, he commands a high amount of authority and power over them, regardless of whether they are directly in his class. For a mentor to take advantage of that in such a manner is a severe breach of ethics for any professional, especially considering the strict expectations I hold for my faculty – “

He broke off the sentence, feeling the words unravel with his composure. 

"They are consenting adults according to their age,” Ozpin said. "But whether their consent was influenced by the role of Professor Lesca remains to be seen. And frankly, Qrow, it hardly matters. Professor Lesca knew and understood my demands of him upon hiring. This is absolutely grounds for his dismissal."

It was Qrow's turn to remain silent in the presence of the anger in the room.

"Is there anything you need me to do? Other than maybe get you that tea now," Qrow offered.

Ozpin glanced at Qrow, realizing the student was motioning toward the headmaster's hands, clenched into involuntary and unnoticed fists. He loosened tight knuckles, stretching his fingers. 

He thought of calling Ferra, but he quickly dismissed the idea. To reveal this information without any true evidence could damage the case before the paperwork was even filed. No, Ozpin would learn the names of the students and have Qrow submit his statement before calling for a hearing. Ferra already disliked Lesca; Ozpin could not trust her not to confront him, or else drop some unsubtle hint when she was forced to work alongside him. Ozpin, on the other hand, had little issue carrying on with Lesca while simultaneously working to fire him through the appropriate channels. 

Ferra called it shady; Ozpin called it necessary. 

"Ah, yes," he said quietly to Qrow. "Perhaps a cup of tea would benefit us both."

Qrow obliged, returning only once two properly brewed teas were in hand. Offering the cup to Ozpin, Qrow sat in his chair waiting for his own to cool. When it took too long, he added some whiskey from a pocketed flask extending the offer to the headmaster.

"Did you want me to gather evidence, or just keep watching him?" the student finally asked.

Ozpin took the flask without thinking, internally debating the wisdom of drinking while angry.  
"Keep an eye on him, certainly," the headmaster said, the argument with himself ending when he made the decision that he did not care about much of anything at the moment, tipping the flask over his mug. "But be careful. He has a grudge against you, and at this point I can't predict if he would do something rash. If you see anything amiss, just let me or Ferra know, and we will handle it."

He paused to sip at his spiked tea, not regretting his decision. "And please, tell no one else of this. Not even Ferra."

The student nodded, taking a sip of his own spiked tea. "I'm not scared of him. He may be capable, but he isn't aware. He would need more than just himself to get a jump on me. Beyond that it is just accusations. I’m not sure I get why this is such a big deal, but if you say so…”

Red eyes flicked up, connecting with Ozpin's. "I won't lie to you. If I fuck up, I'll let you know. So don't worry about the paperwork until after I confess if something happens."

The statement was almost akin to an oath of loyalty; the headmaster appreciated it - from Qrow especially. Ozpin had spent half the year arguing with himself, for or against using Qrow's talents - and semblance - for his own private missions, but he knew the dangers that entailed for such a young student. And yet Ozpin found this incident tipping the scales in favor of offering Qrow a place in his even his deepest secrets. 

And yet Ozpin was not convinced Qrow fully understood the gravity of the situation. The headmaster did not place Lesca in a category of criminals and murderers, but he was clever and had already demonstrated his contempt for Qrow. Given the legal ramifications of Lesca's termination - should it come to that - the man could drag Qrow's name into the mess. Ozpin may have reign over his school, but he could not protect Qrow against the law. 

He sighed into his tea. It all made him so very tired. 

"Just please be careful," he said again.

***

"I always am," Qrow said, taking another drink. Qrow couldn't understand it, but he felt Ozpin's hesitation to send Qrow out like a leash. Under different circumstances, Qrow would rip the leash from the holder only to do the opposite out of spite.

But something told him not to. Some commanding force aside from Ozpin's words - like an invisible hand asking, not demanding, that Qrow listen.

_Tch. Fine._


	10. In which Qrow breaks a good deal of rules and convinces Ozpin to as well

It was the first snow of the season, yet the usual gentle ease into the frosty flakes had waved its hand in passing this year, making way for a blizzard in its place. While the storm in question passed without incident, it left most of Beacon Academy barricaded under three feet of snow.

The professors and students alike had spent most of the morning working together to create necessary paths to and from each building, uncovering supply sheds, and warming the frosted windows.

Qrow was not one of these students.

He rose well before most of his teammates, opting for a morning stroll, the fresh fluff irresistible; so irresistible he had to share it with his teammates, gracefully waking them with a snowball to the face. Snickering, he took off as they yelled after him - thus beginning the two-hour snow fight.

The fight ended as Taiyang, aiming for Qrow, accidentally pegged Professor Lesca. Qrow immediately took off before he was spotted, leaving Summer and Taiyang to be roped into assisting with clean up.

Young Branwen opted for more freedom and took the day off in his crow form.

It was this form that disturbed Ozpin from his work monitors by tapping at the window every few seconds as he balled the snow on the ledge, only to kick it off on unsuspecting students beneath the clocktower.

Once depleted of ammunition, the bird flew down to a sloped pile of snow and rolled down the hill to his heart's content. 

Repeatedly.

The headmaster chuckled at the sight of the delighted bird, snow flying in all directions as he fluttered his wings. He leaned against the glass window, warm mug in hand, allowing his mind to wander from work to the happy creature below, enjoying the sight of careless joy that he himself so rarely knew. He wondered how many times the crow could roll before making himself ill, the sort of motion sickness that would result in still-satisfied bragging after the fact. Ozpin thought he might need to offer the bird's natural form a blanket and a cup of hot cocoa to ward off the chill with which he was recklessly flirting.

Not that he would play that card so soon in the game.

Having lost count of the tumbles long ago, the crow rose from the bottom of his hill - or tried to, only to beak plant into the snow again. Squawking with joy, he fluttered his dazed wings attempting to right himself only to plop down on his rear seconds later. Rolling to his side once more, he drunkenly stumbled to the top of the snow cawing with delight and frightening a passing student.

Ozpin watched the alarmed student scurry off, shooting a glare at the unconcerned crow. The headmaster reached out to unlock the window, pushing the pane open several inches, the crisp air wafting into the heated office, his coffee steaming as if in protest. He leaned out, far enough so that his whistle could reach the bird's ears, the sound an offer of dry warmth.

The crow's response was immediate, cawing as if to say _I'm coming,_ before taking off for a lopsided flight and landing less than gracefully on the window sill once more.

Head cocking to one side, the crow scrapped at some of the snow beneath him, plucked some in his claws, then flew into the headmaster's office, depositing the snow on Ozpin's silver hair before landing on the man's shoulder. The bird chirped in what both had come to understand as a pet name he had given the headmaster as he gently nipped at a wild tousle of hair, nuzzling it back into place.

Ozpin couldn't help but laugh at the pull of his hair, the bird's light feet bouncing on his head and shoulder, the snow melting to leave cold spots on his scalp.

"Yes, _thank you,"_ he said, his tone jokingly sarcastic, closing the window to keep the office cozy. He turned back to his desk, the crow still on his shoulder, reaching in his pocket for the little flask he had brought this morning in case he needed to ward off the cold. He poured a capful and placed it on his desk, tipping it more generously into his coffee. 

"This should warm you up a bit," he said to the bird.

The crow hopped merrily down to the desk and ran in a circle of joy, soft patters echoing in the office, before stopping in front of the cap, eyes fluttering shut for full enjoyment, as he lapped up the strong drink. Caws of gratitude welcomed the professor as the bird sat on his feet, allowing the warm liquid to wash over him.

The little bird puddle was himself a warming sight to the professor; Ozpin offered the crow a gentle pet on the head, chuckling to himself. Beacon did not often get such snowy days, and the headmaster did not mind in the least the bird on his desk, giving him every excuse in the world to enjoy the weather - at least from the dry safety of his tower. 

Tipsy and turvey, the bird waddled over to the professor to nip at his shirt cuff, then caw at the window signifying the couple's next destintation. 

"Outside again?" the headmaster said, raising an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you prefer to remain warm?"

The crow replied with a protesting squawk, leaving Ozpin to hold up his hands in mock surrender.

"Very well," he said, rising and replacing the flask in his coat pocket. He scooped up mug and offered his palm to the bird as a means for the tipsy creature to make a safe journey back into the snow. 

Hopping up managing to wobble only a little, the bird made an about face, sat making himself comfortable, and squawked commanding his human forward.

Once outside, the creature closed his eyes sniffing at the fresh snow.

Even having braced himself for the cold, the winter air stung at the headmaster's nose and ears, his fingers only kept warm by the puddle of feathers in his palms. He mused that he ought to have taken one of his usually forgotten wool coats, or a pair of gloves, or anything beyond his customary scarf, and yet now it was too late, his black oxfords already sinking into the snow as demanded by his crow companion. 

There were so few students out, the crisp air keeping them huddled in the safety of indoors, but Ozpin was delighted by the uncharacteristic snowfall, looking up toward the sky to catch snowflakes on his tinted glasses.

"If I catch cold," he told the bird, the words manifesting as thick white clouds, "Ferra will never believe I was outdoors because a little bird told me to."

The crow chirped merrily hopping down from Ozpin's hands to land in the snow - the velocity of which causing the crow to disappear in a bird-shaped hole. Out popped the black feathers, shaking off a snow topped head with a squawk before he took off for a small circular flight around the headmaster, the completion of which had the bird kicking snow from a nearby ledge at the man as if to taunt _come get me._

Ozpin bent to scoop up a handful of snow, packing it into a loose ball, eyeing the crow on the ledge. 

"I may be out of practice," he admitted, "but if it's a challenge you want, I gladly accept."

A tuft of snow tumbled down to the headmaster's head in response as the bird took off swooping in for a near but moving target.

The small avalanche was chilling, the headmaster flinching at the icy fingers sliding down his neck and beneath his scarf. The snowball stung at Ozpin's hand, and yet he did not immediately seek to throw it, watching the erratic movements of the crow, gauging which direction the bird might next dip. The crow made to circle around the headmaster again and Ozpin let the snowball fly.

For a moment the trajectory was perfection, the crow an exact target, but a sudden gust of icy wind blew past Ozpin, whistling shrilly in his ears. The crow went with the wind with a squawk of protest, the snowball sailing over the bird –

\- and directly into the face of a passing student. 

"Oh," Ozpin said automatically, frozen for a moment until the student dropped to his knees in the snow, gloved hands reaching to shield his battered face. The headmaster was at his side in a moment.

"What in the hell -" The student's angry voice was muffled, dying as he looked up into his headmaster's eyes. 

"Oh," he said in surprise, his face red from the impact of the snow.

"Mr. Sterling, you have my most sincere apologies," Ozpin said, inspecting the damage he had done to his student. "I was aiming for someone else, and you just happened upon the scene at precisely the wrong moment..."

The boy stared, not fully understanding that the reason for his being incapacitated was that the headmaster of Beacon Academy had been in a snowball fight.

"Do you require medical assistance, Mr. Sterling?"

"What? Ah, no. I'm good. I mean...that was a hell of a shot, Professor - _heck_ of a shot -"

Ozpin cleared his throat of the laugh that threatened to rise. "Thank you, Mr. Sterling, but I am more concerned for your health than my aim. I'm afraid that you may wake tomorrow with...a rather colorful left eye."

The boy picked himself up from the snow, shaking water droplets from his hair. "I'll live, Professor. But, um. Do you mind if I don't mention it's because you hit me with a snowball? I mean, black eyes are pretty cool, but it would sort of ruin my reputation if..."

"Say no more," Ozpin said, holding up his hands. "What story would you prefer? That you prevented my being attacked by a stray Grimm?"

Sterling looked up, his eyes large. "Could I? I mean, _hell,_ Professor - sorry, heck, Professor, if I could tell my team that -"

The headmaster laughed. "Mr. Sterling, I'm responsible for your safety at my school and I've just given you a black eye. I am more than happy to abide by any details you prefer."

"Awesome," the boy breathed. "Thank you, sir," he added, shaking the headmaster's hand. "This is the best black eye I've ever had. I'm going to go tell my team how I got it!"

"I look forward to hearing how you saved my life," Ozpin said mildly, nodding as the student scampered off unsteadily in the snow. He watched Sterling leave for a minute before turning his eyes back toward the sky to find where his very mischievous bird had wandered off.

The answer came in the form of a snowball to the face, crushed ice leaking down the bridge of his nose and glasses, equal parts delighted and alarmed, shaking the snow from his face.

From above, the crow cawed victoriously, both in the sudden turn of the battle, and because he had kept his overworked headmaster from thinking about his job for the duration of a single afternoon.

The trill from his pocket came almost expectantly - there was, after all, no day in which Ozpin's attention was not demanded in some manner or another - and Ozpin slipped it against his ear, already knowing what voice he would hear.

"Yes, Ferra?"

"Sir, I need to see you in your office as soon as possible."

"Is this because security told you about the student I hit with a snowball?"

"About - the _who_ now?"

"Never mind," Ozpin said quickly, too distracted by the crow diving at him to pay his assistant's suddenly hostile tone. "I can meet you in, say, an hour?"

 _"You did what to a student - "_ The shrill voice cut off as Ozpin disconnected, immediately powering down his scroll to avoid any further disruptions to what he now considered a very fine afternoon indeed.

***

"Ok, I hid the body, now what?"

The message came twenty minutes into the week's faculty meeting, Professor Ozpin putting down his coffee mug to automatically reach for his scroll. He assumed it was some non-urgent administrative business, given that the entire Beacon teaching staff was at the table with him.

He did not expect the text he discovered. 

"Wrong person. Forget you saw that."

The follow-up text only made the situation sound worse. He squinted at the messages for a moment, struggling to form a response. 

"Do you require my assistance, Mr. Branwen?" he wrote back. 

"Depends on if I’m going to get into trouble. If the answer is no, then yes."

Ozpin raised an eyebrow at his scroll.

"That implies you should be in trouble for whatever you've done."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Sir. Sorry to bother you."

Ozpin frowned. Qrow was not going to so gracelessly deflect such a curious message to the absolutely wrong person for such a message. 

"Mr. Branwen." The name alone was a full sentence. "It would be wise to confess your sins to me before I discover what it is you've done."

Ozpin heard a throat clear and realized that the meeting had gone surprisingly quiet. He glanced up to find Ferra glaring.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, sir?" she asked.

"Not in particular," the headmaster said, not moving to put away his scroll. 

"That may take weeks, Sir,” came the next text.

"I meant in _this_ particular instance," Ozpin typed back. 

_The ass._

The headmaster knew better than to encourage Qrow's elusive teasing, but now Ozpin was interested - as least far more interested than he was in whatever Ferra was currently discussing with Professor Peach. 

"I hid a body."

Ozpin almost sighed, recalling where he was and shortening it to a sharp exhale, earning an equally sharp look from Ferra.

"Excuse me," the headmaster said, rising from his seat. "I'm afraid I have to take this call."

"What call?" Ferra asked. 

"This one," Ozpin said, dialing the number he had just been messaging, slipping out the door before he could heard Ferra's objections, listening to the ringing on the other end of his scroll.

The phone rang three times before Qrow answered slightly out of breath, "What's up?"

"I think you know perfectly well why I'm calling you, Mr. Branwen," the headmaster said. "Is there something you would like to tell me, or shall I have security locate you instead?"

In response, Ozpin's phone pinged with coordinates, directing him a hundred meters outside the Academy to the top of his favorite cliff.

The headmaster sighed, glancing back to the conference room he was supposed to be in.

"I'm on my way," he said, and disconnected, opting to leave without alerting Ferra. Best to ask forgiveness later than permission he would not receive. 

Fifteen minutes later, he approached the cliffs where so many students had undergone their team initiations in their first year. He wondered - almost seriously - if Qrow was plotting to throw his headmaster off in some strange fit of retribution. Ozpin would be impressed if he could manage to surprise him in such a manner. 

"Qrow?" he asked, glancing about the empty landing, peering at the trees for a bird that may be hiding. 

"Over here, professor," Qrow called out behind Ozpin. When the headmaster turned, he found the student partially covered by a rock formation. 

Approaching largely out of curiosity laced with apprehension, Ozpin finally spotted the body in question. 

A body it was, but much smaller than anticipated. 

Qrow picked up the cake, offering it to the headmaster. "Happy birthday, Ozpin," he said.

And he grinned.

Ozpin stared for a long moment, disbelieving the motivation he was hauled out of a meeting was because Qrow had managed to remember the birthday Ozpin pretended he didn't have. 

He blinked, his gaze moving down to the cake. 

"Is that a Beowolf?" the headmaster asked, unable to fully restrain his smile.

"Yes. And now Summer thinks I have a thing for wolves, but here you go," he handed the professor the cake, then moved to reveal a picnic spread facing the expansive cliff view. "Also stole...uh. _Borrowed..._ some wine. They said that goes with cake. Not ah...never mind. So there you go."

The headmaster couldn't help but chuckle, studying the detail of the cake, opting to pretend he didn't hear the comment about stolen wares.

"Trying to seduce my good opinion with cake and wine?" Ozpin teased. "Thank you, Qrow, this is all...rather sweet. I didn't expect you to remember, let alone do something like this."

"Well it was either this or show you my year one landing strategy again, but I figured you could enjoy the cake and wine a little bit longer," he teased in return.

Ozpin chuckled again. "That was probably the correct decision," he said. "Shall we?"

He motioned toward the picnic as though he were not the guest to the impromptu lunch date, settling down on his knees on the blanket. 

"You'll have to oblige me with one more gift," he remarked, as Qrow sat beside him. "An excuse for my absence from my own faculty meeting. Ferra would be furious if she imagined me to be sipping wine right now."

"You had to go slay a large Beowolf lurking outside the Academy walls," Qrow said, serving both wine and cake to the headmaster. "Start with the head. I added extra frosting."

"Oh dear," Ozpin remarked, accepting the dessert with only mildly concealed eagerness. "So much sugar this early in the day..."

The professor hadn't even had lunch yet - not that he usually remembered to have lunch - and yet he would not turn down dessert. The icing was as tempting as though Ozpin was a child, too impatient to wait for Qrow to hand him a fork before dipping a finger in the frosting. 

"It's delicious," he said. "A Beowolf slaying of my own accord? A curious story. I wonder if she would believe me. Probably not, but I wonder if she would question it."

"If I back you, she’d call bullshit," Qrow laughed. "Then again, if we say I was trying to take it down and you were supervising, it might fly. I did decapitate it," he pointed to the cake.

"So you did," the headmaster said with a laugh, sipping his wine. "We shall see if she buys that story. Is this port, by the way? My, my. All before lunch."

And yet Ozpin did not protest it, enjoying the view and the company far more than the stuffy conference room and Ferra's endless meeting minutes. 

"Hey, this is lunch. You've got your carbs..." he gestured to the cake, "and your fruit salad." He held his wine glass up in a toast. 

“Have you ever had port, Qrow?” Ozpin asked. “It can be an acquired taste.”

When the rich port touched his lip, Qrow's eyes widened, extending the sip. "This is a lot better than fermented fruit on the ground..."

"It's a wine fortified with liquor," Ozpin explained. "Usually brandy. Your informant was right in suggesting it to be paired with cake. I would like to believe it to be a better vintage than anything nature is inclined to create on the forest floor."

He took another bite of cake, another sip of port, studying his student. "How many rules you have convinced me to break today," he said with a chuckle.

"I don't think that is a complaint," the student replied with a smirk, copying the headmaster's cake and port relay. "Besides, aren't you the one that says rules are meant to be bent?"

"Not _all_ of them," Ozpin said. "But it is my birthday, after all."

"Then this doesn't even count as a bending, right? People do the special treatment on these kinda days. You taught me that one, Professor."

Naturally, Qrow finished his wine first, opting for a second glass, offering to refill the headmaster's at the same time, the remainder of the afternoon passing in a blissful relaxation of pleasant conversation and rich tastes.

It had been many years since Ozpin celebrated a birthday – it hardly mattered which life belonged to today – and he leaned back on the blanket until he was reclined on one elbow, with dessert and wine in hand, thinking of anything but work, anything but his many years, anything but unhappiness.


	11. In which Qrow is sent to the headmaster's office again for reasons he doesn't expect

Ozpin glanced at his watch, anticipating the break of classes for lunch. He had been impatient most of the morning, waiting for a convenient time to send Qrow Branwen a text, his early hours spent in idleness, unable to focus on the emails demanding his attention.

He rose from his desk to overlook the school grounds, the white tint of frost still coating the courtyard despite the pale sun overhead. It was an especially cold winter, which the headmaster appreciated, counting down the days after his birthday to today in particular. 

Fifteen minutes to noon, he pulled his scroll from his pocket and sent his student a brief text.  
"If you would be so kind as to stop by my office at lunch, I would be most obliged."

It was cryptic, he mused, watching the words slip from his screen. And yet he rather liked the tone. Qrow had learned a great deal from his headmaster already, but Ozpin was not entirely inclined to allow him the privilege of going without a challenge here and there. 

Chuckling to himself, Ozpin poured another cup of coffee, taking a seat at his desk again to await his new appointment.

***

Qrow read and reread the message he received. He was rarely at a loss for why he might be in trouble. In fact, he usually had ample reasons to choose from as to why he would be sent the headmaster's office.

But not today.

Today he was struggling to find out how _something_ he did might have been reported without his knowledge - how the headmaster might have discovered some slip of a prank and decided to lecture the boy into the dark hours of the evening.

Yet Qrow drew a blank. Virtually everything he had been up to recently was relatively harmless - small stuff he knew Ozpin would simply look the other way for.

_Shit._

"On my way," he sent with a sigh.

"Branwen, sit down!"

"Duty calls, professor," was all the boy said as he exited his classroom and headed for the headmaster's elevator.

Still mulling over the possibilities, he drew a frustrating blank when the doors pinged announcing his arrival in the office. Qrow entered slower than normal, cautious, his suspicion written all over his face. 

"Have a seat, Mr. Branwen," Ozpin said, looking as though he was suppressing a smile. "I hope your day has been pleasant so far, even if I did just receive an email regarding your leaving class early. Do you know why I've called you here?"

"No," Qrow admitted, his voice laced with annoyance. Heavy eyes lacked the professor's amusement. Qrow didn't like being blindsided, then again it could just be one of those days...

Ozpin chuckled, removing a small, red-wrapped box from his coat pocket. He placed it on his desk and slid it toward Qrow. 

"Happy birthday," he said.

Qrow stared at the package, mind blank in disbelief. Judging by the headmaster's light tone, he had meant to catch the student off guard, and - to Qrow's annoyance, he had managed just that.

Head cocking to one side, Qrow approached the present inspecting all angles before he dared touch the package. 

_It could be another trick,_ he reasoned. Crimson eyes flew up to Ozpin, watching the man's pleased expression grow. _No._ The headmaster was far too smug already for there to be a follow up.

"Birthday?" Qrow asked, head already cocked to a side again. "February thirteenth, according to your student file." Qrow did the mental math again, having completely forgotten it himself. "I guess so, huh?"

Qrow bent at the waist and sniffed the box before finally plucking it from the table and sizing the weight, forcing his suspicions to subside.

"I assure you that it isn't likely to explode," Ozpin said dryly, watching the student's suspicious behavior. "In fact, I think it's something you'll enjoy quite a lot."

Qrow locked eye contact with Ozpin, studying the man's sincerity. 

Then he shook the box, not trusting a damned thing.

Qrow had taken part in enough pranks to know you don't drop your guard in moments like this.

Slowly, _meticulously,_ he opened the box. Inside was silver flask bound in brown leather, his emblem neatly imprinted. Qrow was, yet again, speechless – but this time for a completely different reason. 

"Ozpin, I..." His mouth fell open, not knowing what to say next. The headmaster was right - he did like it. Hell, he _loved_ it. No one had ever gotten him something so...useful

...so perfectly _Qrow._

The stunned student looked up at the headmaster, eyes no longer suspicious, but appreciative.

"You're welcome," Ozpin said, the words a smile, clearly pleased to have rendered Qrow Branwen of all people speechless. 

The headmaster cleared his throat lightly, reaching for his coffee. "Of course, just because you're of legal age to drink and now have a flask that would hide easily in your uniform jacket, I personally cannot condone drinking on school grounds." 

Ozpin sipped his coffee, eyes flickering up once more to study Qrow's reaction.

"That is to say," the headmaster added, eyes dancing, "do avoid being caught."

"Heh. I rarely am," Qrow smirked, all confidence when it came to rule-breaking. "You gonna help me break this in, or are you trusting me to my own devices?"

Although his words were even, his enthusiasm was unmistakable. 

"Perish the thought of being left to your own devices," Ozpin said, leaning over to enter in the code to his secret apartment. "That sounds like entirely too much responsibility for me to bear alone. 

He rose and slipped into his bedroom while Qrow kicked back. A flask, given to him by the fucking headmaster himself. Drinking the headmaster’s good booze, knowing about the headmaster’s secret rooms.

Yeah, Qrow could get used to this.

Ozpin returned a moment later with a decanter of whiskey and one of the familiar glasses the two had used at the end of Qrow's first year at Beacon.

Ozpin took the flask from Qrow's hands, fixing it with a funnel. Once filled, he offered it back to the student.

"Cheers," the headmaster said, filling his own glass and clinking it gently against Qrow's flask. He took his seat again, offering Qrow a glance, eyebrows knit.

"You don't have afternoon classes today, do you?"

"My classes got canceled when something better came up," he said eyeing the flask with glee.

"That's only fair," the headmaster laughed, "considering how you had me skip meetings on my birthday." He raised his glass slightly. 

"A toast is in order, I think. To a successful year and a half at Beacon, and an equally...symbiotic few years to come."

The student made a noise of indignation. "'Symbiotic.' You're the only professor here I know that would call it that. Ferra would say 'catastrophic,' but thanks. I look forward to deepening our _intimate association_ if only to piss her off.”

Ozpin chuckled. "Catastrophic," he repeated. "She would say something like that, yes, and I suspect we both 'piss her off' quite enough separately. If anything, our increased intimacy could serve to offer half as many irritations if we are together. So it could be said we're becoming friends to relieve some of those annoyances."

Qrow barked with laughter. "Sounds like as good an excuse as any to get drunk in the headmaster's office. Besides, we're conserving resources and minimizing damage if we’re together, right? Who knows, maybe we'll be so infatuated with each other we won't even bother demolishing the school for once."

"Hmm," Ozpin said, sipping his whiskey in feigned seriousness. "I don't know, Qrow. I've had quite a few delinquent students in my years here. Do you believe you are delinquent enough to earn the distinction of my infatuation?"

"Pppfft. I'm the right kinda delinquent," the student countered, chugging half of his flask to test the flow. "I'm _your_ delinquent. Type I mean. I'm your type."

"Naturally, I endeavor to reach out to all my more troubled students," Ozpin remarked lightly. "Every student represents a unique challenge to teach and grow. You're simply...more challenging than usual."

"Heh. By ‘challenging’ you mean interesting. You don't pull any ol' student up here in private sayin' it's cause you want to teach them to grow."

"Challenging _is_ interesting," the headmaster said reasonably. "Students rarely rebel without cause. I would rather understand that cause than simply shut it down. I could have expelled you for - well, any number of things by now, but that doesn't solve anything but the immediate problem of your behavior at my school. The underlying causes remain, and you simply become someone else's problem. That is hardly a solution."

Ozpin sipped at his whiskey, as though recognizing his lapse into a lecture without intending it. "No," he said, addressing Qrow's comment at last. "I don't invite any troublesome student up here, and I can say I never have invited one up for a drink before you. But that is what connects me to you, Qrow, and so I am willing to do so for the privilege of that connection."

Qrow dropped his eyes, sensing the sudden shift from light jabs to subtle serious notes. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair before embracing the sweet distraction of whiskey and emptying the remaining contents into his mouth.

_Privilege of that connection._

_"Tch._ You make it sound like some great honor to share a bottle of booze with a borderline criminal." Qrow laughed, part at his own joke, part spiteful. He mindlessly swirled his flask in contemplation as if it still possessed contents. "Just don't let it get out. I have a bad reputation to maintain."

"You're hardly a criminal," Ozpin said. "You've made mistakes, like all people. Like myself. But that isn't unforgivable." He watched Qrow over the rim of his glass, shrugging lightly. 

"But if you prefer your classmates shrink in awe of your ominous reputation, I shall endeavor to keep my sentimental musing quiet."

Qrow's right eyebrow shot up, focusing on one term. "Our _...bond_ makes us sentimental now?" Qrow mused. Slumping deep into his chair, he settled staring at the gears above, tracing them with his finger in the air. "Here I thought we were just attracted to each other out of boredom."

Ozpin blinked at the remark. "I would hope it's a bit more than simple boredom," he said. "I enjoy spending time with you, Qrow. I'd like to think that's not the result of merely having nothing better to do." 

The headmaster swirled his whiskey absently, preoccupied with Qrow's phrasing. "Do I _seem_ that bored to you?"

"You did..." Qrow spoke softly, his hand tracing the gears above halting and dropping to his chest, his eyes now locked on the headmaster. "Before me anyway," he added with a smirk.

The boy flipped his feet back to the ground, elbows perched on his knees as he leaned toward the professor in growing intensity. "We're drawn to each other, Ozpin. Whatever you want to call it. However you want to describe it, we click. I wouldn't be surprised if we develop an addiction to each other in the future."

"I'm drawn to the manner of chaos you bring to my school," the headmaster said dryly. "You're rather difficult to ignore in that regard."

"I'm chaos you don't stop even though we both know you have the power to. What does that say?"

Ozpin's lips twitched, favoring a moment's contemplation to sip his drink. 

"I'm not inclined to comment on that at all," he said serenely.

The boy's eyebrows perched higher. "'Not inclined to comment...' Now what the hell am I supposed to take from that?" Qrow feigned annoyance, but ultimately failed when he could no longer suppress the cocky grin accompanying the knowledge he was - at least for now - the headmaster's favorite distraction.

"Take what you will," Ozpin replied. "You usually do."

"Taking what you want makes sure you get what you want."

"It can also make a fair share of enemies," Ozpin remarked. "Some of your professors and fellow students who do not appreciate such levity, for example. Being an adult - as you now are - means learning that the easiest actions often have the most consequences. If you're prepared for that, then by all means, take what you want without further consideration."

"I thought you weren't supposed to lecture me on my birthday," the student countered.

Ozpin placed his glass on the desk and raised his hands in mock surrender. 

"Quite right," he said. "I suppose I can survive one day a year without giving you a lecture. There's just a remarkable ease in which you draw them from my lips."

"There are better ways to put those lips to use today."

Ozpin's eyes flickered up, as though he caught the possibility of Qrow's innuendo but was too polite to remark upon it. In fact, the headmaster's hesitation was wholly indicative that he could not decide whether to respond at all.

"Dare I ask in what manner?" Ozpin asked at last, picking up his glass once more. 

The boy shrugged. "Something that would make me smile on my _big day,"_ he smirked.

"Have I not already?" Ozpin said, motioning toward Qrow's new flask with his glass. "What else could you possibly demand of me?"

The boy chuckled. "This definitely satisfies one oral fixation, but we were talkin' about something to do with your lips and unless you broke in my flask before giving it to me, I don't think this qualifies."

"I can assure you I left the maiden voyage of the flask to you," Ozpin said, finishing his whiskey and replacing the glass on the desk, eyes wandering to the decanter. "So the lip service, as it was, remains unfulfilled."

"I'd be willing to let it go for a flask refill?" the young man tested hopefully shaking his flask. "It doesn't even have to be the good stuff."

Ozpin studied the student, as though this were a difficult decision to make and Qrow's birthday was not enough alone to sway him. With exaggerated care, he lifted the decanter –

And poured himself another drink. Only after another pause, another sip, did the headmaster slowly push the liquor in Qrow's direction.

"I don't see the merit in keeping anything _but_ the 'good stuff,'" he remarked. 

The student positively beamed at his professor as he took a healthy, greedy drink from the headmaster’s glass. Half gone, Qrow wriggled in his chair with delight swirling the glass and inhaling the sweet aroma. 

"I guess this counts as your lip service too, huh?" he asked, still grinning and gesturing the shared glass forward.

"I get more than enough lip service from you on a daily basis, Mr. Branwen," the headmaster said, hiding a smile behind his glass. 

"Yet you keep inviting me back to your office," Qrow grinned. "Makes me think you like the abuse more than the challenge."

"Far be it for me not to accept the tribulations of a challenging student," Ozpin said. "Any good teacher would do the same."

He swirled the glass absently, another smile threatening. "I think we're all some form of masochist or another when it comes to our students."

"That's why I could never be a teacher. Not really a masochist. I'd rather just fling 'em off a cliff like you do and call it a day. Come to think of it, that's probably how you get your revenge. But you don't need revenge if you never let your opponent get ahead."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Ozpin said. "You didn't seem ahead when you had your own surprise landing strategy test. Kilt and all."

"Hey," Qrow began to slur, raising a lecturing finger, "I was a huge hit with the ladies that day."

Ozpin chuckled, taking off his glasses to polish the lenses. 

"I confess that was not my motive in allowing you to wear the skirt," he said. "Ferra had pulled me aside to point you out - of course I had already noticed - and I think up until the very moment I launched you from the cliff, she thought I was joking. The truth was I was entirely too entertained not to see what would happen if I sent you on your way as you were dressed."  
"A perfect landing strategy, that's what!" Qrow barked again in laughter, his mind relaxing in his drunken state. "You answered the question everyone was dying to ask: what was I wearin' under my kilt? You shoulda seen them all tryin' ta look without me seein'. Looked like drunk gymnastics." 

Qrow grinned, reaching for another sip from Ozpin's glass. "I was happy to show 'em if they had the guts to ask."

Ozpin chuckled, restoring the glasses to his face. "Speaking of eager young ladies," he said, glancing back at Qrow with the smallest hint of a smile. "Are there any of interest in your social life these days?"

Qrow shot the headmaster a disdainful glare. "Really, Ozpin?"

The headmaster chuckled freely at the student's annoyance, chasing the sound with another sip of whiskey, glass restored and refilled in his possession.

"Really," he said, his tone almost teasing. "I know given the circumstances of last year, you may be a bit shy to plunge back into the tides of romance, but you're young. You should take advantage of that youth while you - "

Ozpin paused, with an apologetic smile. "I'm lecturing again, aren't I?"

"Yep. And I don't think you need more private details considering how much of my private parts you saw under my kilt."

The young man paused, a smirk spreading on his lips. "Bet that was the real reason you launched me. You were curious too."

Ozpin snorted into his glass, a possibly calculated move to conceal the hint of pink that rose to his cheeks. 

"I will rue the day that my personal relationship options are limited to students who haven't yet learned the subtle differences between a skirt and a kilt."

"Hey," Qrow began, leaning forward pointing at Ozpin. "I may not have known the difference between a skirt and a kilt, but I had _other_ talents that you woulda been lucky to find out about," he finished with a suggestive wink, reclining in his chair again. "So what are your personal relationship options anyway?"

The headmaster shook his head. "You can't possibly want to hear about that," he said. 

"Why the hell would I ask if I wasn't curious?" Qrow countered.

"Then I'm afraid I have little to divulge," Ozpin said with a small shrug. "With my position and my hours, socializing has become something of a lesser priority." 

"Then what do you consider what we do?"

"I see you have yet to fully grasp the subtleties of my polite dismissals," Ozpin said with a laugh. "When I say 'socialize' I'm being discreet."

The student's eyes darted back and forth as dots connected in his intricate web of intoxicated thought. "You mean fuck? You would rather _work_ than have _sex?_ " he asked in horror.

The headmaster went pink at the directness of the phrasing, coughing lightly despite not having taken a drink. 

"I meant more along the lines of _dating,"_ Ozpin said, busying himself with needlessly topping off his glass, "but I suppose the two - well.

"Adults make certain sacrifices," he said after a long pause. "I did not take my position at Beacon without understanding that it would limit my time for other things."

Qrow's mouth fell open. "You have to be kidding! That's what separates us from the Grimm!"

Time ticked on until he could fully accept the truth, and ever so slowly he closed his mouth resulting to a solemn shake of his head. "That...sucks. I mean - not really. Kinda the opposite actually. But I mean that really, really sucks. How the hell are you supposed to relax without the best stress relief known to mankind?"

"One may consider the merit of reading," Ozpin said dryly. "Or whiskey. Or a very hot bath."

"Reading? A bath? You’ve got to be joking. Whiskey, sure, but even that you can get horny on. I mean shit, Ozpin. Have you even had an orgasm before? It's fucking heaven. Pun intended."

The headmaster's blush sprouted anew. 

"This is _hardly_ a conversation I intend on having,” Ozpin said, his tone defensive.

Qrow's brow furrowed retracing the steps in the conversation only to get lost in one overwhelming summation. "You work too much," he concluded with a nod of certainty.

Ozpin sighed into his whiskey, the breath temporarily fogging the glass. 

"I don't think I can argue that point," he said. 

"You're also hot," the boy said, wriggling his finger at the headmaster's face.

"I'm...what?" Ozpin said, forgetting, for once, to sound gracious in light of a compliment - or whatever it was Qrow intended by the frank remark.

"Your glass. It’s fogged," the slurry student explained.

"Oh," Ozpin said. _"Oh._ I thought - well, never mind it." 

He laughed as though the remark was inordinately amusing, Qrow finally seeing the evidence of the whiskey in his system.

The student joined his professor in laughter - more because the headmaster was laughing than in actual understanding of the thought process.

Drunken giggles subsiding after long while, the boy asked, "What's so funny?"

"Just the nature of lapses in communication," Ozpin said. "Your phrasing has always been lamentable at best, Qrow."

"Why would you want to laminate my phrasing? Is it that good?" he asked, before a hiccup echoed across the room.

"Some of what you say is certainly memorable enough," Ozpin said with a laugh, uninhibited. "I don't think a student has ever spoken to me the way you do. It's...curious."

"It's relieving like orgasms are supposed to be."

Again the headmaster went pink. Qrow found the color particularly amusing, obvious on pale cheeks.

"Precisely like that," Ozpin murmured into his whiskey. "I really should lecture you on the matter, had I not given my word not to do so on your birthday."

So saying, the headmaster pushed the glass across the desk.

"How to give better orgasms?" the boy shrugged, taking the whiskey back. "I haven't had any complaints yet. In fact..." he trailed off in thought. "Nope. Nothing but gold stars, thirsty repeats and curious prepositions...propositions. Whatever."

"This is exactly the sort of thing I prefer not to know about my students," Ozpin said, his lecture tone weakened by his growing blush. 

_So red,_ Qrow thought, distracted. 

"It's hardly conversation for polite company."

"Pfffft. Since when am I 'polite company,'" Qrow snickered.

"You’re capable of pretending.”

"Don't you preach ta 'be yourself' and all that?" Qrow gestured with the glass. "I'm just rockin' what I know. And apparently that's how to fuck."

He emphasized the point with the sound of glass against glass as he passed the whiskey back.

Ozpin picked it up and sighed heavily, the whiskey in the glass rippling. "Just so long as you're being safe," he murmured. 

"Yeah. My safeword is 'Tapioca.'"

"I assure you that I never needed to know details of that level of intimacy," Ozpin said, laughing quietly.

"What if you ever walk in on someone not listening to me yelling 'tapioca?' It might be important."

"Whenever would I have reason to enter your dorm room?" Ozpin asked, his stern tone betrayed by the twitch of his lips.

"Who said it'd be in the dorm room? I got roommates 'n' all. Gotta be respectful," Qrow said, barely holding back a snicker.

"That's not the - " The headmaster sighed, whiskey silencing his efforts of rebuttal. "Never mind."

"You always in your room?”

“I have several rooms in my apartment, thank you.”

“Still,” Qrow pressed. “Doesn't that get boring?"

"I find myself quite comfortable at home, thank you," Ozpin said, raising the glass with tipsy indignance. 

"Tch. I bet your favorite position is missionary."

The headmaster spit whiskey across his desk, cheeks turning crimson. He took advantage of the resulting chaos to rise from his seat, wiping up the glass with a black handkerchief. He seemed to take more time cleaning than was necessary, finally resuming his seat without making eye contact with Qrow.

Preoccupied, he didn’t seem to notice Qrow snatch the whiskey and retreat back into his seat.

Qrow swallowed his laughter at the headmaster’s expense. He had never seen Ozpin so flustered; he tipsy made note of this, of the pink stain on the professor’s face, of the ammunition for another time.

"So," Ozpin said, with an air of unconcern, "I recently took up bird watching."

It was the student's turn to spit whiskey across the headmaster's desk, the boy recovering with less finesse than the professor.

"Oh..." he choked out, "really?"

Ozpin bit back a smile, offering his soiled handkerchief to the student. "Ferra suggested it. An 'old man hobby' to convince me to relax. I have to admit I enjoy it more than expected."

"Why? the student asked incredulously.

"Why? I suppose it was merely the last thing Ferra suggested. Goodness knows she's suggested every hobby from gardening to bird watching. I don't particularly enjoy dirt, so birds it is. Besides, they're clever, entertaining creatures."

"Of course I-... they are," he corrected.

"I find them quite cute when they're gallivanting in puddles," Ozpin added. 

"Hey! They're-..." the boy fell silent for pondering minute. "Puddles are fun. If you were a bird, you'd play in them too," Qrow defended.

“You seem to have quite a lot in common with birds,” Ozpin continued. “Perhaps it was an early association that earned you your name.”

Qrow simply raised the glass to his lips, using his free hand to point his middle finger toward the ceiling.

“Hardly the type of bird I meant,” Ozpin said, his usually discreet smugness oozing now, subtlety lifted by intoxication.

Qrow snorted. “You think you’re the first to make fun of my name?”

“Not mocking. Just remarking.”

Qrow rolled his eyes. _Sure, old man._ “You just want me to get in trouble, don’t you? Make me mad so I flip you off and you can give me more lessons in manners.”

“Do you think _you’re_ the first student with the misplaced audacity to ‘flip me off?’” Ozpin said, chuckling. “Qrow, I have been teaching entirely too long for you to hold that honor.”

“Worth a shot,” the student said.

“Besides,” the headmaster said, “I wish for you to remain _out_ of trouble in the week. You missed your first year dance; I would loathe for you to miss the Historical Masquerade.”

Qrow made a face. “Yeah, _that_ sure would suck.”

“Come now, don’t you want to impress your fellow classmates with how much you’ve learned?”

Qrow slumped in his chair, the warmth of the whiskey dimming at the thought. “I dunno,” he said. “Sounds like a pain. What if…what if I’m not that great?”

“I assure you, Qrow, you will be more than fine.”

“I know I’m fine,” Qrow interjected with a wink.

“Qrow.”

The student just rolled his eyes.

“I have every confidence that your classmates will be suitably impressed. After all, I consider myself a seasoned dancer and I have rarely had the pleasure of such a talented partner.”

Qrow lifted his eyes, tipsily studying the headmaster’s expression. “Really?”

Ozpin smiled. 

“Really,” he said.

“…thanks, Oz.”

The nickname came easily, naturally, with the whiskey in Qrow’s blood. Ozpin blinked, and the smile returned slowly.

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly.

A moment of easy silence fell between them.

“Besides,” the headmaster said, “if you make a bit of a fool of yourself at a masked ball, no one will know it’s you.”

Qrow groaned at the idea but Ozpin began laughing – the sort of laugh that he only did after a bit too much whiskey, uninhibited and free from the heaviness he seemed to always carry. It was infectious, Qrow beginning to laugh with him.

“Happy birthday, Qrow,” Ozpin said at length. “I trust this one was worth remembering.”

“Yeah,” Qrow said, turning the flask over in his hands, running fingers over the emblem imprinted there. “Best one yet.”


	12. In which Qrow attends his first school dance and everything goes extremely well as far as he is aware

Three-quarters through the academic year, Beacon Academy held the biennial Historical Masquerade. Meant to supplement the years without the vitality and excitement of the Vytal Festival, the Historical Masquerade was an event in Vale, with guests from across the world, that encouraged historical education and social growth through awareness.

Well, Professor Ozpin mused, regarding his unfamiliar reflection in his bedroom mirror, awareness and exceedingly fancy costumes. 

The headmaster placed the finishing touches on his outfit with great care; he wore a costume that called upon a time hundreds of years past, when men were inclined toward fitted breeches and stockings and slightly heeled shoes, an ornate brocade coat of deep blue to complete the look, the trim done in extravagant silver filigree that swirled about cuffs, lapels, and down the back. He had not seen himself out of green and black in such a long time that he hardly knew himself, the disguise furthered by a dark wig that hid his silver hair, his tinted glasses replaced with a delicate mask of silver and cobalt. 

Satisfied that he no longer looked like Beacon’s headmaster, Ozpin closed the bedroom door on his way out, hearing the ping of the elevator com line as he did. He pushed the button to grant access, expecting Professor Agrios to arrive to escort him down. 

He did not expect to see himself walk out of the elevator. 

Professor Agrios was herself no longer, her usual neutral metallics replaced by dark green slacks, a black suit jacket and vest over an emerald shirt. Her wild gold hair was gone, replaced with a white wig, gold eyes behind a mask of green and bronze.

"Well?" she asked, stepping off the elevator and doing a brief spin. "What do you think?"

"Ferra," Ozpin said. "You're supposed to dress as a historical character."

"You're old enough to qualify," she retorted. 

"An _influential_ historical character," the headmaster said.

"Oh, stop fishing for compliments, sir. I would think this getup is enough of one as it is."

Ozpin chuckled. "So it is. I'm quite flattered."

"And look at you. Livius Magna, I presume?"

"The last of the philosopher kings of Mantle," Ozpin said, with a brief bow. "A thinker, inventor, and perpetual optimist regarding the human race."

"Wasn't he murdered by his subjects?"

"A genius not properly recognized in his time."

"Speaking of recognition: you don't look a thing like yourself."

"Isn't that the point?"

"It's an improvement, in any case. You look twenty years younger with dark hair."

"Thank you," Ozpin said with a smile, "although I don't anticipate making the change permanent. If I looked younger, people may not respect me as much."

"Implying that they respect you now, sir," Ferra said. "Shall we? We're already a bit late."

“One moment more; can you help me with this?” Ozpin held up a sheer gold armband. “One must have the proper warnings, after all.”

“Yes, can’t have you mistaken for a student,” Ferra said, securing the band on Ozpin’s arm. 

“Why, Ferra, do you really believe one would?”

“Oh, do shut up, sir.”

Ozpin merely smiled and offered his arm, which Ferra took with her usual reluctance, as though her normal reticence increased by being dressed as a man. 

When they reached the grand auditorium, they found it transformed into a great ballroom. Security noted the gold armbands given to invited faculty and adult huntsmen – to prevent their being mistaken for Beacon students – and waved them in without a word.

The pair found the ballroom decorated in historical extravagance, dim lighting provided by Dust-powered lanterns, dancers and party-goers bathed in the colored illumination, exaggerated shadows cast upon the walls. And the guests themselves - it was impossible amidst the masks and elaborate costumes to know student from professor, were it not for the gold bands - were just as colorful, coats and gowns lined with silk and lace, as though all had stepped through a rift in time.

Ferra became instantly popular, with guests stopping mid-step to exclaim over the creativity of her costume, earning laughs and congratulations on her unique idea, while the genuine Ozpin quietly excused himself from the crowd to seek the punch bowl. He was more interested in the air and space than the punch, still finding - after so many years of his position as headmaster - that social events did not become him. 

Still, he knew Ferra expected him to remain for the entirety of the evening, and so Ozpin settled into acceptance of the fact, even if it meant nursing a cup on the sidelines for a few hours. 

A shame that he could not use the event as an excuse to dance, but he rarely found a partner of stamina, and so he resigned himself to doing his job in a mask, and leaving the evening at that.

***

Across the dance hall entered the most infamous pirate to roam the kingdoms - Volodymyr Y Ddraig Goch. Iridescent feathers of all sorts tacked to hats, hair, and hems marked fallen enemies. Beads and coins marked conquered cities taken back from enemy hands. The former king turned pirate was the epitome of extravagance.

Raised as servant to his family's murderers, Volodymyr Y Ddraig Goch experienced a cruel childhood. Even crueler were his methods of retribution once he reclaimed his family's kingdom, after which he turned to life of piracy expanding his people's trade to all reachable continents.

Indeed, Volodymyr Y Ddraig Goch was both feared by his enemies and loved by his people whom he defended until the bitter end, but his techniques - now seen as brutal and uncivilized - caused him to be penned one of the greatest terrors born of man. For better or worse, the man was more influential across all the kingdoms than any before him.

Yet Qrow Branwen felt tethered to the figure he understood, and so here he stood in the ballroom in some grotesquely opulent garb which made him stand out even among the rainbow of colors dancing across the floor. Silk black and blood red detailed with gold brocade and trim shimmered in the dazzling lights; he only hoped the outrageous hat and eye mask shielded his identity.

Qrow could not believe that he managed to step foot out of his room, let alone enter the masquerade in the "fashionable designs" of Summer Rose. He could kill her for putting him up to this. At least she gave him a sword and swore none of his teammates would hang too close and blow his cover.

Qrow had never been to an official dance before, having been unceremoniously banned his first year. Not that he didn't deserve it. Still, the issue remained that it put him on the short end of the social interaction spectrum.

He unscrewed the top of his leather flask and took a long drag. Nothing like liquid confidence to loosen you up to face disastrous events of the evening.

Well maybe not disastrous; Qrow had been taking dance lessons from Ozpin. Not that he would ever admit that even to Raven.

Another healthy drink, a heavy sigh, then the dreaded dive into the sea of socialites.

Not even five strides in, he felt a tug at his bell-shaped sleeve. He turned a bit too abruptly, hand on his sword's hilt. Okay, so maybe more alcohol to take him off edge. He watched the young first year's eyes grow wide before she apologized one too many times and ran off.

Either the mask was working or his reputation still preceded him - not that Qrow minded either way. Although Ozpin had ensured the end of last year's events had been kept heavily under wraps.

Finishing more than half the contents of the oversized flask, he resumed his stroll to the only quiet corner of the ballroom. For the most part, the crowd parted for him - a gesture for a king, he mused. Not more than two minutes in, he felt another tug at his coat - only this time the alcohol had relaxed him enough not to grab for his weapon.

Qrow turned to face the distraction - a slight blond thing dressed as some...page boy?

"Hi...you're really cool, you know that?" he said.

Qrow could only look confused.

"I mean. Really. Cool. Volodymyr Y Ddraig Goch, right?" he added after an extended silence.

Qrow nodded curtly, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

"He was always my favorite in history. So tall...dark...and handsome...." Eyes inched over Qrow's body.

Qrow eyed the page skeptically. 'When in doubt, stay in character,' Summer had instructed Qrow; 'that way you play the part and don't overreact.'

"Thanks. I have to go impale some enemies now," Qrow said, spinning on heel to head for the punch bowl instead. He smiled to himself feeling the success of completing his teammate's mission.

_Nailed it._

***

Professor Ozpin watched the figure in red and gold approach from the corner of his eyes, the costume so obnoxiously splendid that the headmaster felt a little less like a king. Feathers stuck in his hat in every color imaginable, a blood red coat with gold trim – a bright gold armband on his right arm.

He seemed vaguely familiar, but Ozpin could not place the figure beneath the layers of periodwear.

Ozpin sipped at his punch, wondering not for the first time exactly what manner of fruit went into the bright red concoction, and studied his silent companion in the corner. Like the headmaster, the pirate seemed disinclined toward speech - or any other social nicety - taking a place beside Ozpin against the wall, both men raising their cups for an excuse to keep the silence between them. 

_Perhaps a professor from Mistral?_

A dance began and ended, and another began, Ozpin's cup growing emptier with the passing minutes. Across the ballroom, he could still see Ferra Agrios, dressed as him, talking and laughing with a number of masked guests. He resisted a sigh, resisted looking at his watch, and instead glanced at the pirate in the feathered hat beside him. 

"Not inclined to dance tonight?" he asked, for a lack of a better icebreaker.

The pirate shrugged. "I don't mind dancing," he said, not volunteering any further information. 

Ozpin repressed a sigh. 

So much, it seemed, for interesting company in attractive fashion.

***

Qrow was still on edge not dressed as himself, not properly armored, expected to socialize.

Only the king beside him seemed to have a calm nature that put Qrow at ease. He stole a side glance at the man, then turned to regard him fully.

Only to be interrupted by the blond page boy inserting himself between them.

"Dance with me?" the flamboyant boy asked Qrow, hands clasped eagerly as he rocked side to side on a delicate foot.

The pirate's eye twitched. The boy must have overheard the men. Qrow groaned internally. While he didn't mind dancing, he was fairly certain this partner would try to cop a feel.

Before the pirate could offer an answer - verbal or violent, Qrow could not be sure – the king in blue took a step forward, forcing a barrier between the blond page and the pirate. 

"I do beg your pardon," the king said, all apologetic smiles, "but I'm afraid His Majesty Volodymyr has already accepted my hand for the next dance." He met the pirate's eyes, still mostly hidden behind the ornate mask. "Or was it the next two?"

"Two. Three, if you're good," Qrow spoke curtly, swiftly sliding both cups to a nearby table. Without waiting for a response from either man in front of him, the feathered mystery whisked the blue out to the dance floor.

Assuming the position so thoroughly drilled into him by now that it actually came naturally, Qrow was suddenly thankful for his weekly lessons. Securing the taller figure in his embrace, he sent them gliding across the floor. Despite the surrounding sea of attendees, Qrow was more comfortable than before, able to pretend he was alone with the headmaster in his office, practicing like it were any other night but tonight.

Even with the acknowledgement of the pirate's obvious discomfort with his admirer, the strength of his avoidance seemed to surprise the blue king, finding himself swept onto the dance floor with scarcely a warning. He recovered quickly, however, with the skill of his partner keeping time without thinking, and easily fell into step with him.

A twirl under an arm and a dip proved Qrow’s dancing partner was equally capable as himself. Qrow should have asked if the philosopher was accustomed to being lead, but he was so eager to be rid of the page boy he didn't care. 

Qrow cleared his throat, "Thanks. I hope you don't mind I'm leading."

"I don't mind," the blue king said, in response to the late inquiry. Despite the pirate's assertive physicality, the king appeared to enjoy Qrow’s dancing ability, a smile on his lips, reading Qrow’s movements with an expert’s intuition.

"I wasn't sure you would accept my invitation," the blue king continued, "but I thought it best to extend it regardless. If you would prefer to make your excuses to me as well, I promise not to let it ruin my evening."

The pirate chuckled. "No. I'm supposed to be learning how to do this stuff. What better place to socialize then a masquerade?"

Both men smiled at the irony that neither were socializing amidst the sea of opportunities.

As the song came to an end, he bowed to his partner, Qrow's grand feathers fluffing in the gesture. It was hard to deny the entire ensemble resembled enticing pillowed clouds.

Gracefully floating up, the pirate king offered his hand again. "Are you from Beacon, or a guest?"

The blue king took the offered hand, further pleased that he was not given the thinly veiled excuses he expected.

Small talk wasn't the end of the world when he was distracted with something he was familiar with - not only the dance but the uncanny resemblance his partner had to his teacher. Each practiced glide, delicate swirl...

Yes, this new partner was a perfect fit.

If only Ozpin could see him now, Qrow was certain he would get high marks for participation and execution.

"Oh, I'm quite familiar with Beacon," the blue king said, clearly happy to leave his answers vague, "although it has been some time since I came to an event like this."

The conversation paused as the pirate prompted a spin, his partner reacting automatically, surprised when the move concluded in a deep dip, an old-fashioned style that Ozpin had not yet taught Qrow to master – a move Qrow had only seen in instructional videos.

_Ozpin would be proud,_ Qrow thought to himself smugly.

"My compliments," the blue king said with a quiet laugh, when the pirate's arms pulled him up once more. "I confess I have been dropped more than once with an attempt of that move. Your instructor must be well-versed in older traditions to have imparted that style with you."

The pirate smiled. "My instructor will be pleased to hear that. He sacrificed a lot of time to make sure I would be one of the best dancers on the floor."

Qrow had immediately recognized the moves of a huntsman, concluding his partner must be a former student, confirmed by the vague answer. Qrow appreciated his experience...and the shining silver trim he couldn't stop staring at.

Pulling the man close chest to chest finishing a rotation, Qrow spoke only loud enough for his partner to hear: "Nice trim." The statement was hardly scandalous, however, Qrow still found he appreciated the secrecy of a private conversation.

The pirate's aggressive style was unlike the blue king’s polite passiveness, Qrow’s partner looking surprised by the student’s strength as he led, a faint pink sprouting beneath the blue king’s mask.

Yet the blue king did not seem to think the scrutiny was unwelcome. His partner's confident steps, his ostentatious costume, the careless manner of his conversation all seemed designed to catch attention - and it was an effective method. 

_Maybe Summer’s stupid costume idea would get Qrow some action after all._

"Thank you," the blue king said, his low equally low. "I must confess that your costume is also more than eye-catching."

"Eye-catching? It's as subtle as a peacock surrounded by penguins," Qrow said dryly. "It's not my style, but my _costume designer_ didn't give me a choice. She can be more stubborn than me."

In truth, Qrow didn't completely hate the outfit. He appreciated the rich dark colors, ridiculous feathers, colorful beads, and shimmering charms from all corners of the lands - they reminded him of his nest. He just didn't appreciate everyone eyeing him like the next meal.

His partner laughed at the comparison. "It may not be subtle, but it is certainly striking. I suppose that must come with one's position as a pirate king. A very interesting character choice, by the way. Not many people would be inclined toward a man of such...unconventional political means. But then again, my first impressions say that you aren't a very conventional man."

Was the blue king actively flirting? Qrow couldn't be sure, swept up in the opulence and anonymity of the evening. Maybe it didn’t matter. The magic of the masquerade would dissipate with the sunrise, and Qrow could fondly remember it merely as a spectator of his masked persona. 

All the more reason to enjoy himself while he could. 

"Hardly. I appreciated Volodymyr's drive. He was a great leader, didn't take shit from anyone, and he didn't wrong anyone that didn't wrong him first. People respected - " Cut off early, pink crept into Qrow's cheeks before he could finish the thought. 

_Had someone just groped him?_

He swirled his dance partner to find the page boy blowing him a kiss; Qrow responded with a glare. The music changed to a lively tango; a smile graced the pirate's lips as he plotted his revenge.

“Do you know how to tango?” Qrow asked, his voice harsher than he meant.

The blue king blinked. “Well, yes – “

"Sorry for this," Qrow muttered, dipping his partner lower than before, stretching the man's limber body across feathered strong arms.

“No need to be,” the blue king murmured in returned, nearly upside down. “Lead on.”

And so Qrow did – following the steps he had seen in Ozpin’s recorded dance lessons, he pulled and flung his partner into every move, hands drifting almost too far down the blue king’s back and waist, determined to make the page boy who watched him rage with jealousy. 

The blue king was good – perfect, really, locking into the tango’s hard beats and falling limp when Qrow dipped him. Watching him move, feeling the synchronicity between them, Qrow almost forgot why he had started the tango to begin with, grinning when the pair managed a particularly well-executed spin.

The dance concluded almost as abruptly as it had begun, the blue king panting lightly below him in a dip, Qrow’s arms around him.

Considering Qrow had only seen the dance on some recording, he considered it a success, righting both men landing face to face by the final beat of the song.

The small crowd surrounding them applauded.

_Applause._

It hadn’t occurred to Qrow that the rest of the room might notice them.

"Want to go outside?" It was a demand more than a question, Qrow pulling his date off the dance floor before he got an answer.

Anything to get away from the stares on them now.

***

The applause was unexpected, Ozpin not realizing that the two men had gathered such attention. In the nature of the heated dance, he had not given thought to those who might be watching. The lingering exhilaration of a talented dance partner made him question again whether he should care about the impression he gave their audience, finding the pirate's slight blush rather charming. For a man who chose just a grandiose costume, he did not seem naturally inclined to showing off.

Despite his own reluctance to overly social events, Ozpin did miss dancing as a hobby, indulged only in his own office with an awkward teenager on Friday afternoons, stilted by their roles as professor and student. The masquerade, however, with the swirls of colored lights and wonderfully convenient disguises, took away those barriers, allowing Ozpin a new sense of freedom from his own identity. 

With a talented dancer, the evening had transformed into something positively divine.

He nearly said so in reply to the question to leave the ballroom, but as he turned, the gold eyes of Ferra Agrios met his. All at once Ozpin's anonymity cracked, reminding him that there was someone present who knew what was under his mask.

"Yes, I think a bit of air is in order," Ozpin said to his companion, a needless remark, for the pirate was already dragging him from the center of attention and away from the amused expression on Ferra's face.

***

The night air was crisp, refreshing after the exercise in so many ornate layers. The darkness, broken by the slim beams of light that escaped the ballroom windows, was reassuring, a metaphorical barrier that kept the pirate and his partner shielded from further public scrutiny. The blue king took a long breath, glancing toward Qrow.

"Quite the...spirited performance," he said. "I haven't danced a tango like that in a very long time."

Qrow paced, taking in the cool air to cool himself. 

_What was he thinking dancing like_ that _...with a stranger...in front of_ people? 

He forced his stomach to stop trying out for an acrobatic position with a heavy sigh.

"Me either," Qrow remarked off handedly. "Actually, never. I was never really taught it…”

“I would have never guessed. You’re a natural.”

For once, Qrow was thankful for the casual conversation. Never in his life had he thought he would appreciate small talk. He glanced over at the philosopher. Qrow knew he had fucked up the end not asking for permission prior to practically molesting his partner, but they didn't ask in the video either so he wasn't sure what the correct response was anymore. He just knew he still had a lot more training to do.

"I hope I didn't offend your date dragging you out here." The half question, half statement was a search for social guidance. "I just...I’m not used to that kind of attention."

"Ah," the blue king said. "Nor am I, but you may rest assured that my date is merely a friend, and a professional one at that. Besides, you must never apologize for good dancing - even if it is out of the motivation of revenge."

"You caught that?" Qrow laughed, shaking his head. "He was just so...persistent." He turned to prop his elbows against the balcony railing, then regarded his date. "It was either that or get kicked out of the dance and I really didn't want to fuck up this one too. Kind of on thin ice."

Qrow cleared his throat, wishing to drop his record and remain anonymous; both men needed a distraction.

Instead, he turned a sharp eye on his impromptu date.

He surveyed the philosopher's outfit head to toe admiring the detail. The blue king caught the stare and met his eyes and holding the gaze for a long moment.

_That was interest enough,_ Qrow thought.

Maybe dances didn’t suck as much as they seemed.

"It helps when you have a good partner,” Qrow said. “Did you learn here too?"

"I find that Beacon always has something for me to learn," the blue king said, joining his companion at the balcony. "I should hope I never stop learning. Otherwise I may grow old before my time." He chuckled as though making an inside joke, a quiet, calm sound.

"I do almost feel sorry for your young admirer, however. I'm sure that even given his obliviousness to your discomfort with his advances, he could not help but be discouraged by our performance. Perhaps he will learn his own lesson tonight: that persistence can be charming, but only if the recipient is already receptive."

"Then I'm thankful you were willing to receive me," the pirate king joked. "Not that you had a choice given my pirate nature," he added with a wink.

Another smile from the blue king. "As I said, it can be charming. All things considered, I don't mind relinquishing some part of myself tonight. That's what a masquerade is, after all."

_Very_ interested.

Qrow found himself smiling - how odd the gesture seemed given he was normally so against company other than himself. "So I'm charming now? You don't fear the all-powerful destroyer of nations, pillager of ports, rakish rogue?" he teased. With an exaggerated sigh he added, "Then I guess I'll just have to take you as my prisoner for the evening...Livius Magna, is it?"

"You know your history," the blue king remarked, "although as far as I know, Livius was never taken prisoner by pirates. I do know that he appreciated art and culture, however, so perhaps if he was tempted by a skilled dancer, he would not put up much of a fight."

Livius shot his companion an amused glance, granting the pirate a mock bow of his head. "As a diplomatic king, I would prefer to avoid undue violence."

Qrow was certain - almost - that the remark was a suggestive sort of innuendo, and yet it was so silly, given their costumes and anachronistic characters, that he was not inclined to find it offensive or even unwelcome. He liked the sound of the man's quiet laughter, the glint of his eyes – and definitely the way he moved his body on the dance floor.

Qrow had flirted with less to go on.

"Tempted into the enemy's quarters all because of fancy footwork,” Qrow said, laughing. “Not that I disagree - I worked hard to become this good. Maybe I can show you more moves from all corners of the world later. For diplomacy."

"I think I would like that very much.” Livius’ voice was even, smooth, but the pink on his face meant he understood Qrow’s meaning. "After all, the night is still young."

_Absolutely, certainly flirting._

The pirate king dropped his voice to a deep gravel. "What then, prisoner, do you have in mind to entertain me for the evening?"

Livius leaned in toward the low tones of his companion. "I would imagine that is up to Your Majesty," he said softly. 

A wolfish smirk spread across the pirate king's lips - he could easily get into role playing as a hobby.

At least the ones where he was a king.

"'Your Majesty'...I like that. Well spoken, Prisoner. I can see why you are so successful at diplomacy," he remarked casually, but he inched closer to his partner – at first slowly, and then – 

_To hell with subtlety._

Qrow faced Livius head on, stepping forward until he was too close.

"What are you willing to do to keep the peace?"

Livius took an involuntary step back when the pirate placed his arms on either side of him, the edge of the balcony railing immediately preventing further distance. Qrow could swear Livius was almost holding his breath now, a scarce few inches between the two men.

"I _am_ a diplomat," Livius murmured, "so I must do whatever it takes."

Qrow growled approval. "Correct again. You might get off easy tonight..."

The captor lingered, imposing himself on his prisoner, the tension building as lips grew closer.

_Fuck it._

The distance disappeared and lips locked.


	13. In which a case of mistaken identity is revealed

The kiss was foreseeable and surprising simultaneously, Ozpin pushed back against the railing with the force of it. His eyes closed on contact, his hands reaching up to pull the pirate ever closer, his stomach fluttering pleasantly, finding himself so very glad by his decision to attend a social event for once.

A tongue snaked out to caress Ozpin's lower lip, only to be followed by a gentle nip, the tongue slipping past defenses to the moist heat within. Arms wrapped around the hostage, cradling him in tight embrace, bodies pressed together.

_How long had it been?_

Ages.

_Lifetimes._

The press of the other man against him, the tease of his tongue, the aggressive lips against his - Ozpin found himself wholly without objection to the advances, his arms trailing up and over the pirate's shoulders to wrap around the other man's neck. The touch of another man’s skin was nourishment to one starving, and Ozpin took what was given to him without a hint of complaint.

He wondered - in some far-off part of his mind - if he ought to be concerned with the potentially public venue of this unexpected affair with a stranger, but the lights and music of the ballroom felt so pleasantly far away, and the embrace of his companion so pleasing; here he was not Professor Ozpin, headmaster of Beacon. Here he was the happy prisoner of a charming rogue who -

The cheerful ring of Ozpin's scroll trilled from the professor's coat, making him pause in returning the attentions bestowed upon him, but only so much as allowed him to reach for the device and bring it to his ear.

"Yes?" he asked, ignoring his own breathless tone. His dance partner's lips migrated from his face to his neck, making Ozpin shudder, holding the scroll away from his mouth in case he could not resist an audible response. 

When he composed himself enough to answer properly - made no easier from the obvious teasing nips of his companion - he heard a voice mid-sentence, the tone entirely too sobering.

" - thought you said you would stay the whole evening!"

Ozpin felt the magic of the evening shatter like glass, wishing to reclaim it by simply hanging up.

"I haven't left," he said, his one hand tightening on the pirate's embellished coat at a particularly sharp nibble at his throat. "Only stepped out for some - ah - a touch of air."

"...you did?" Ferra Agrios sounded doubtful, something Ozpin was only mildly concerned with as Volodymyr pulled him into another open-mouthed kiss.

“Sir, if you’re lying – “

Ozpin regretfully broke the kiss, turning his mouth back toward the scroll. "I gave my word."

"Are you all right? You sound winded."

"I sound winded?" he repeated with a chuckle, feeling rather than hearing the pirate's low growl of a laugh. "I'm fine. I'll be right in. In just a moment. I promise, Ferra."

Disconnecting before he could hear her doubtful protests, Ozpin wrapped his arms back around his partner.

Perhaps…just a _few_ more minutes outside…

***

The pirate king froze.

'Ferra.' 

He swore he had heard it. How common could the name be? 

...not common enough at Beacon Academy. Qrow ran through every curse word he could think of in his mind as he sized up his partner anew.

It. 

Was. 

_Ozpin._

Well disguised - _incredibly_ well disguised - but it was Ozpin. 

The sobering reality was altogether unwelcome. 

Qrow had, for once, had fun at a social event, but that was now a distant memory in the shock of reality. Color drained from his face, yet he still could not bring himself to escape his headmaster's intimate grasp.

"What now?," he muttered, stomach working in knots, clearly at a loss for action.

Qrow watched as Ozpin sighed, his shoulders slumping with the knowledge that he had to return to reality and the masquerade - and did _Ferra_ know what costume the headmaster was wearing? Would she recognize Qrow?

The student felt his stomach churn with panic.

"The time for enchanted dances to end is traditionally midnight," Ozpin said, his tone both light and regretful – how the _hell_ could Qrow not have recognized that voice? - "but I'm afraid ours has to end prematurely. I'm needed elsewhere. Please accept my apologies, and my thanks for a thoroughly enjoyable evening."

All of the blush that had drained from the pirate king's face came crashing back with a vengeance. Qrow couldn't just leave; Ozpin might figure out who he was. No, anonymity was the safest route. 

Which meant he had to continue to play the part. 

Qrow's stomach rolled into another knot.

All of Ozpin’s deportment lessons in the fucking _world_ wouldn’t have prepared either of them for this disaster.

"You're...welcome." Softly spoken was all Qrow could manage. "You've earned your freedom, Livius Magna." With that, Qrow released the headmaster and backed into the shadows, resisting every urge to just break into a sprint and never look back.

***

Ozpin watched the pirate king disappear into the darkness, wishing to say something more but also wishing to keep the mystery of the evening alive. He did not know the identity of his partner of the night and it was better that way - a small scandalous affair that could be recalled only in terms of their masks, with none of the complications that came with names.

It was, Ozpin thought, with a vague sense of heaviness, the only way he could ever hope for any fleeting sense of romance. 

No one should have to bear the burden of Ozpin’s name except the man himself.

He sighed again as he walked back into the barrage of colored lights and music of the ballroom, spotting Ferra along the back wall near the punch bowl.

"Did you miss me so greatly?" he asked, pouring himself a cup and shooting her an amused glance.

She snorted. "Only thought you were avoiding responsibility again."

"A fair enough suspicion," Ozpin said, sipping his punch. "I only needed some fresh air."

Another snort. "After the way you danced with that pirate, I should think so," Ferra said, giving him a sideways look.

The headmaster cleared his throat, feeling the blush on his face. "Really, Ferra, that's how a tango is meant to be danced. In any case, my partner was merely trying to make another guest envious. I just happened to have the skills required."

Ferra shrugged. "Well, it does make me happy to see you actually have a bit of fun once in a while. You stay cooped up in your office too much."

"Yes, yes," Ozpin said absently, even now unable to keep himself from glancing back toward the dark balcony outside.

Alas, Ozpin knew that this particular fairy tale had ended before its time.

***

Qrow was _fucking_ positive he couldn't return to the masquerade. He was also fucking positive that if he didn't, his teammates would drag him back because 'anything less than three hours doesn't count' according to Summer.

It had barely been two.

The boy groaned, jumping off the balcony to return to his room.

Only after a little air and a _lot_ of whiskey, Qrow dragged himself back to the ball in another less ostentatious outfit - nothing more than a plain black mask atop his usual street clothes. 

This way everyone would recognize him, and he couldn't be accused of not attending or leaving too early. 

_Or of making out with his headmaster._

Qrow shuddered. 

The mask also provided a nice cover for the bruise he was sure was forming on his forehead after it consulted the wall regarding the evening's events. 

Repeatedly.

Heaving a long sigh, Qrow reentered the ballroom, immediately seeking out his teammates and avoiding any and all signs of the royal blue philosopher. He needed a bit longer before he could face the man again.

Summer immediately glared at him, hands on her skirted hips. She had carefully selected the first famous lady Huntress, but opted for some ridiculous 'battle dress' in place of the time accurate androgynous bloomers. Even Qrow had to admit, it was more flattering. 

Summer was already huffing at his appearance. "Hey, what happened to the - "

"The shoes were uncomfortable," Qrow cut in. He couldn't risk anyone potentially finding out he had possessed any other outfit than this.

Summer puffed her cheeks in disapproval. 

"Dance with me?" he asked before she could further object. He didn't wait for a response before he drug her to the dance floor for a simple waltz.

She sighed but fell into the steps – Qrow immediately recognized the awkwardness of their dancing; Ozpin hadn’t been wrong after all, in all those speeches about dancing being like fighting – it took another minute before he and Summer found their shared pulse, and even then Qrow knew he couldn’t do have the moves he had pulled with Livius.

_Ozpin._

Summer cried out when he stepped on her foot, Qrow managing an apology.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You’re not the same as before.”

“Before what?”

“When you were Volodymyr.”

“Shhhhhh,” Qrow snapped, looking around. “Not so loud!”

“What’s wrong with people knowing you can dance?” Summer asked. “Qrow, you and that man were _incredible!”_

“Yeah, well, maybe I want to keep it under wraps,” Qrow said.

“Do you know who he is?”

“No!”

“Do you _want_ to know?”

“Summer, if you don’t shut up, I’ll drop you in the next dip.”

His teammate rolled her eyes. “Boys,” she said, as though to anyone within earshot. “You’re all so afraid of feeling anything.”

_You’re damn straight,_ Qrow thought, and looked toward the clocktower.

For the time, he told himself.

***

"Looks like I'm not the only one who opted to avoid ridiculous historical wear," Ferra Agrios remarked from the punch bowl, motioning with her cup toward the dance floor, where a very obvious Qrow Branwen waltzed with a young woman. "Even if he is breaking with the theme of coming as someone historically influential."

"Perhaps he's merely being prophetic," Ozpin remarked, earning a roll of Ferra's eyes. He watched Qrow's steps, pleased by his timing. Some of Ozpin's dance lessons had stuck after all. He hadn't expected Qrow to attend at all, his presence a pleasant surprise, his aversion to socializing not keeping him from the dance floor.

The entire scene was quite inspirational.

"If Mr. Branwen finds the motivation to dance," the headmaster said, taking Ferra's punch from her, "then I'm afraid I must insist you do the same."

His assistant glared beneath her silver wig before regarding Ozpin's extended hand with nothing less than suspicion. 

"Come now, Ferra, I know that you can waltz."

"Fine," she said, the word a sigh, taking the offered hand and allowing her boss to lead her onto the floor.

"Every time you insist I come to a social event," he said, as they began to move across the floor, "I will ask you to dance."

"That's blackmail, sir."

"So it is, Ferra," he said serenely.

***

The dance continued more or less without issue, Qrow having officially adopted Summer Rose as his evening date (much to her actual date's disapproval, but he didn't voice his complaints upon recognizing Qrow).

Blond tufts of hair jutted out from a makeshift cap on a nearby dancer, which Qrow recognized immediately as Page Boy. 

He blamed that boy for the entire fucking disaster of an evening. 

If he hadn't been so damn insistent, Qrow could have happily stood by the punch bowl all night. 

If he hadn't been so damn insistent, Qrow wouldn't have needed a dancing partner.

If he hadn't been so _fucking_ insistent, Qrow wouldn’t have swapped spit with Beacon Academy's headmaster.

A clumsy bump from Qrow sent the boy diving to the floor. 

"Oops," over his shoulder was all Qrow offered, continuing to spiral his new date across the floor.

“Qrow,” came Summer’s warning.

“Accident,” Qrow said.

His adopted date only rolled her eyes.

Come the end of the dance, Qrow felt a tug of his tailcoat. He turned expecting Taiyang or Raven, only to be unpleasantly surprised when it was the same Page Boy that had been plaguing him all night. 

The one he had knocked down minutes ago. 

The boy was beaming at him.

_The fuck was wrong with this guy?_

"Dance with me!" the boy ordered, grabbing Qrow without waiting for a response, and whisking him off into the next dance.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Qrow demanded. He glanced back at Summer, who only offered a confused shrug, as though she was unsure if she should give chase.

"You're Qrow Branwen, right? AKA the biggest bad boy here."

Response came in the form of a growl.

"Well...except for that sexy pirate Volodymyr. Have you seen him?"

Qrow could have slapped himself. "No."

"Shame. I was really looking forward to seeing what was under his-"

"Shut up and dance or leave me the fuck alone," Qrow interrupted, still fighting the urge to throw the kid off the balcony.

Maybe if he gave the kid one dance, Qrow could be free of the annoyance.

Qrow immediately regretted his words when the next song cued. He could not figure out what the new pop rhythm was, or how to dance to it. At least the kid dropped his grip on Qrow's hands.

Only to turn and close the distance between them into some sort of pelvic grind.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"It's called dancing!" the boy exclaimed bumping uncomfortably close to Qrow's own hips.

"No." Qrow said, turning to walk away. He caught sight of Summer, still following at a distance, miming desperately as though to ask Qrow if everything was okay.

"Oh, wait!" The boy grabbed on to Qrow's hand again, refusing to let him leave. "Look, I'll add some space. I just can't help it. You're so..." He looked Qrow over head to toe for two seconds too long. "Hot. And totally my type." He leaned into his hostage. "I love aggressive men."

Qrow felt the warmth in his cheeks and assured himself it was rage.

The only kind of aggressive Qrow was now was someone who aggressively wanted to escape.

***

The waltz ended, Ozpin parting ways with all but Ferra's hand to give her a brief bow. The next dance, a very pop-heavy tune complete with choreographed lights, was a sharp contrast to the previous ballroom dance.

"Oh, no, I'm not going to dance this one with you," Ferra said, taking her hand back quickly.

Ozpin laughed and followed her from the dance floor. "I hardly know how to myself," he said. "Thank you for indulging me on the waltz, Ferra."

"You're welcome," she said, only half sarcastic. She motioned with a nod back toward the floor. "Your favorite student seems quite popular."

Ozpin followed her eyes across the room, where Qrow was engaged with the young blond boy from earlier in the evening. The headmaster sighed, knowing only too well what the conversation entailed. He took his scroll out and skimmed the names of his first-year students quickly, looking to confirm –

"Paul Pantone," Ozpin said aloud. “And I believe that is Miss Rose attempting to mediate.”

“Are you sure, sir? It doesn’t look like her.”

“Ferra, please, I know my students when I see them. Tell me about Mr. Pantone.”

Ferra shook her head. "He's had a number of small complaints from the boys in his class. He’s…quite flirty.”

"To the point of complaint? Why am I only just hearing about this?"

"They were small incidents, sir. The boys usually retracted them when I asked them for details."

The headmaster's mood turned stern. "Hardly mitigating," he said. 

Ferra, still watching the scene between Pantone and Branwen, sighed. "Would you prefer me to intervene so you can keep your identity a secret, sir?"

"Not yet," Ozpin said.

"But, sir..."

"Just wait," he said, too intensely curious to see how his favorite - most violent - student would handle the pressure of the situation. “Polite rejection is one etiquette lesson I haven’t taught him.”

“…I don’t know if Mr. Pantone understands polite.”

“Then perhaps Qrow will handle this fine without the lesson,” Ozpin said.

***

Eyes sharpening to daggers, Qrow dropped his voice. "You try anything like that again and I will make sure you can't."

The Page Boy's eyes lit up, practically trembling at the knees. 

Qrow for once couldn't get a read. 

_...was the kid excited?_

"You do understand I am threatening you, don't you?" Qrow asked.

"Absolutely," the boy purred, squirming with anticipation and eyeing Qrow all over again.

"Stop checking me out."

"Why?"

"Because it’s creepy."

The boy's smile finally faded. "Why?"

"Because you look like you can't decide whether you want to eat me or have me beat you to a bloody pulp."

The eyes lit up with excitement again, "I'd prefer the first one..."

"What does that even _mean?"_

"I can't say or you’ll punch me. While I like a little pain, I prefer to keep it in private. And I don't want you expelled."

The kid was toying with him; worse Qrow was at a loss for what to do. He had never come across someone that wanted to have the shit kicked out of him.

***

Ozpin held his punch at his lips, the cup wholly forgotten as he watched the conversation between Qrow and Paul Pantone become more intense, the expression on Qrow's face easily read despite the mask. Paul raised a hand to stroke Qrow's arm, Qrow physically flinching at the contact.

"Sir..." Ferra began, but Ozpin had already put down his cup and started across the room. As though the dancers recognized his determination, they parted to allow him passage on the dance floor.

Without hesitation, Ozpin seized the hand on Qrow's shoulder, twisting it until the boy faced him. 

"Mr. Pantone," he said, his voice dropping automatically into his lecture-tone. 

The boy looked surprised, eyes rising to where Ozpin stared down at him.

"I think Mr. Branwen has made his objections to your attentions _quite_ clear."

An expression of shock came over the boy now, some manner of recognition flashing in his eyes. "P-professor Ozpin?"

“Professor Ozpin,” came the breathy repetition from Summer Rose, her eyes growing large from behind her mask.

Ozpin released the boy's wrist and sighed, removing his mask, suddenly tired by the facade of it. He took his tinted glasses from his coat pocket and restored them to his face. "Mr. Pantone, I think you've had more than enough excitement for the evening. Please return to your dorm immediately. We'll discuss this more at another time in my office."

The boy, having gone white with the confirmation of the headmaster's identity, merely nodded and quickly scurried off. Ozpin watched him for a moment to ensure his exit from the ballroom.

"I'm sorry if he tainted your evening, Mr. Branwen," the headmaster said into the resulting silence. "Rest assured I won't allow such behavior to continue. Thank you for handling the situation so delicately."

***

Qrow kept his eyes on the target running out of sight - well aware he could not meet Ozpin's gaze without bathing in a blush. Instead he opted to remain cool and aggressively focus his energy on his growing displeasure for Pantone.

Summer was no help at all, staring at Ozpin as though she had never seen him before, stricken by the thought that her headmaster could dance like _that -_

"It's fine. Thanks for stepping in before I knocked him out." The student spoke without unclenching his fists - the additional focus of which he found helpful.

The Page Boy long gone, Qrow cleared his throat, unsure of what to shift his agitated attention to next. He chose the floor. Ozpin's face wasn't on the floor, the lips that Qrow had –

_Floor._

But his very feminine heeled shoes were. 

_Fuck._

"Good costume. I didn't recognize you," Qrow muttered in effort to conceal his awkward mood. "Having fun?"

Qrow mentally slapped himself. Then kicked himself. Then got into an all-out brawl. 

He really needed to choose his words more carefully, but he was so damn distracted by trying not to pay attention to the man next to him. Qrow bit his cheek hoping the pain would focus him, distract him from the panic rising in his chest.

Why were the effortless casual conversations he managed alone in Ozpin's office suddenly so fucking hard to have?

Beside him, Summer’s stunned expression had slowly shifted into something vaguely awed, lips parted, eyes wide and adoring on Ozpin’s face.

_Did girls really think dancing was_ that _impressive?_

"Before this incident, I was having a surprisingly good time tonight," Ozpin said. "Then again, these events tend to be more work than pleasure in my position."

Qrow was certain Ozpin knew nothing about Qrow's earlier attendance, but his cheeks didn't believe him and they warmed a shake darker. His stomach - which had worked out most of the knots from earlier - roared to life again.

"I hope this won't prevent you from considering other events in the future," the headmaster said. "I confess it was very pleasant seeing you in attendance."

The student had learned many things his first dance: Qrow could learn how to dance from instructional videos. Ozpin was gay. Qrow could lead Summer in a dance. Ozpin liked aggressive men. Qrow needed to keep an eye on Pantone. Ozpin was a good kisser. Qrow was not drunk enough for this evening's events.

None of these facts helped Qrow now. In fact, the only upside seemed to be that Qrow had two years before he ran the risk of a fuck-up this big again. 

Next time, he had already decided, Qrow would learn Ozpin's costume choice beforehand.

For now, with no character mask to wear, Qrow defaulted to the polite conversation Ozpin was always trying to drill into him.

"Good thing you like your job so much." Qrow had no choice but to feign ignorance of the pleasure Ozpin insinuated - thankfully it was no secret the man was a workaholic.

Qrow scanned the room for his teammates again adding, "Pantone won't scare me away..."

"Glad to hear it," Ozpin said. "Now that I've given my identity away, I dare say it would be best if I left you to your friends. Students never seem particularly inclined to my company when they know I'm the man behind the mask. Do try to enjoy yourself tonight, Mr. Branwen. Miss Rose."

He offered the student a brief pat on the shoulder and turned back toward the punch bowl and his assistant, Ferra watching dutifully from afar.

Qrow froze, holding his breath on the contact. A simple pat on the shoulder by a hand - that was all it was. 

An eager hand. 

A hand that had been pulling at Qrow's clothes not an hour earlier demanding _more._

Qrow turned away, his skin flushed in patches of white and red, unable to decide where to send the blood. "Yes, sir. Good night," was all he offered before he too took his exit.

“Good night, sir!” Summer cooed after him, still all googly-eyed. Only after the headmaster’s retreat did she turn to Qrow, grinning. 

“Don’t,” he said, when she opened her mouth.

“Oh, come _on,_ Qrow, this is amazing! You two are the talk of the whole dance!”

Qrow could only groan at the thought.

If all masquerades were going to follow this unfortunate trend, Qrow was certain he would either die from a heart attack or blood loss.

***

"Remind me to schedule an appointment with Mr. Pantone," Ozpin said, rejoining Ferra at the punchbowl.

"Yes, sir. Is Mr. Branwen all right?"

Qrow was obviously uncomfortable, and Ozpin could hardly blame him for it. To be so publicly antagonized when Qrow had only just begun to attend social affairs - it was an unfortunate coincidence. But Mr. Pantone would be dealt with accordingly after the evening had time to recover.

"I hope so. Nothing like an incident like this to discourage his new social skills."

Ferra gazed up at him for a thoughtful moment. 

"Sir, why don't you retire for the evening?"

He glanced at her in surprise. "So soon? I thought you wanted me here all evening."

"You look tired."

"Old, you mean," Ozpin corrected. "But if you mean to rescind my promise to stay, I'll allow it. Mr. Branwen may not find his evening ruined, but I confess that by identifying myself, I'm enjoying the dance much less already."

"Go then," Ferra said. "The other faculty and I can handle the rest of the night."

Ozpin replied with a silent nod, heading toward the main entrance and the promise of freedom. He paused very briefly before exiting, eyes scanning the room for the scarlet figure of his former dance partner; the pirate's absence was both disappointing and reassuring that Ozpin may have fully escaped with one person not realizing who he was. 

Still...his feet and thoughts lingered for another moment before he shook his head, brushing sentimentality from his mind. 

This, after all, was simply the way things had to be.


	14. In which Qrow avoids the headmaster, Team STRQ destroys another dorm, and Ozpin learns a little about love

Friday evening, at precisely six o'clock, Professor Ozpin sighed, placed his empty coffee mug on his ticking desktop, and reached for his scroll.

This was the third appointment Qrow had missed this week; deportment, chess, and now dance - all had gone without so much as a word from the student regarding his continued absences. The rosters from the week showed him present in all his classes, which at least comforted Ozpin that Qrow was not missing or injured. But it then begged the question of where the student was when he was supposed to be in Ozpin's office.

Any other student would have received a stern warning after the first skipped lesson. Any other student would not have dared to stand up the headmaster of their academy. Qrow was hardly like the any other student.

Ozpin skimmed to Qrow's name in his contact list, firing off a quick message.

"This is the third time you've kept me waiting. Had you attended your deportment lesson this week, you would have learned to give notice before cancelling an appointment."

It was passive aggressive and a touch petty, but that didn't concern Ozpin. He was tempted to remind Qrow that Ozpin's time was far more valuable a commodity than the student's, but he locked his scroll before he became truly mean-spirited. He was tired after another long week, and the frustration of Qrow's absences was just enough to set him off if he wasn't careful. The stern message was enough to make his point; he would allow Qrow to explain himself before he made haste judgments.

But the frustration remained. Ozpin stretched in his chair, hearing the pop of his back. The truth of it all was that he was restless after the Historical Masquerade. Ferra was right - he only expressed doubt in her to tease - that he worked too much, and a brief evening of excitement was enough to press the point home. His mind wandered back to the pirate king who had taken such an interest in him; he both regretted not asking for a method of contact, and relieved not to know his true identity. 

No, it was better this way. Ozpin rose and rolled his shoulders wearily, suddenly glad that Qrow had skipped the afternoon lessons. Instead, Ozpin thought that perhaps instead he would pour himself a strong drink, run a hot bath, and allow himself some sentimental daydreaming of a feathered pirate.

***

"Sorry. Can't make it. Too much schoolwork to catch up on. I'll be in next week." Send.

Qrow sighed. He knew he couldn't avoid Ozpin forever, and in truth he really had been spending the last week catching up on his lessons. Who knew they offered make up assignments when you ditched? His teachers couldn't believe his improvement.

For now.

Soon things were likely to fall back into the same routine - consistent evening absences for night flights or naps... but Qrow couldn't bring himself to roost in the headmaster's office. Not now. Not after...

He cut his thoughts. He had work to do. He could deal with Ozpin's wrath next week after he saw the improvement reports.

***

Ozpin read the text over a glass of whiskey in his bedroom, the water echoing from the bathroom. His eyes narrowed at the unsatisfactory explanation. True, Qrow had been at every class this week, but the thought of him hunched over textbooks in the library was impossible to imagine.

Placing his whiskey on the dresser, he wrote a new message, this time to Professor Port. "Has Qrow Branwen asked about his missing assignments this week?" He only had to wait a minute for a reply.

"Yes, sir! Mr. Branwen has been a model student all week! Even turned in some extra credit!"  
Ozpin thanked the professor and sipped his whiskey. Extra credit? Model student? Qrow was hardly the type. Ozpin considered whether this might be some ploy to lower the suspicions of his teachers before some extravagant practical joke.

Another sip of whiskey, another sigh, and the headmaster shook his head. He was looking for reasons to stay annoyed with Qrow, a scapegoat for Ozpin's bad mood. If Qrow had in fact begun taking his studies more seriously, Ozpin had little room to complain, even if it left him bored three evenings a week. 

Another text to Qrow –

"Understood. Glad to hear your studies take precedence, even at the expense of dancing."

That small touch of jest, Ozpin mused, might make up for the harsh tone of his earlier message.

He neither expected a response nor received one; whatever Qrow’s strange mood was, Ozpin was at least certain it had little to do with him. He shook his head, picked up his whiskey and book, and hummed to himself as he turned his attentions to his bath.

One really never understood teenagers, after all.

***

Qrow bolted upright in his bed, heart racing, sweat coating his body in thick sheen cascading down his forehead blurring his vision. It had been a while since he had suffered a nightmare that vivid.

Qrow buried his face in his palms wiping the memories from his mind as viscously as he scrubbed his face.

Everything was so real.

The groans of the cogs overhead.

The smell of coffee.

The milky white skin free from torn clothes.

The friction of smooth and coarse grinding into action.

The taste of - 

_That’s enough dream analysis._

Qrow slapped himself hard enough to splatter his sweat on the wall - hard enough to jar his hearing and make the room spin...yet not hard enough to erase the memories flooding back into his consciousness.

Unleashing every savage curse he could think of under his breath, the student rose too quickly grinding his teeth to prevent a louder curse from waking his teammates.

He glanced down at the pain in his groin. Rock hard. Must have been hours, he thought recalling the pains of puberty.

Growling, he snatched up his robe and headed for the showers.

He had to take care of the physical issue asap, but there was a snowball's chance in hell it would be with the man plastered in his nightmare still on his mind.

***

Qrow stepped out of the shower, toweling off so vigorously he almost chafed - punishment for his body's betrayal whilst he slept. It wasn't the first time, but he was going to do everything in his power to ensure it was the last.

_Fucking nightmares._

Qrow winced at the poor choice in words, instead refocusing his energy to a rigorous version of his morning routine.

By the time the teen returned to his dorm, the others had awoken. 

_Great._

At least he didn't have a raging hard-on anymore. 

"Oh, Qrow! You're back!" Summer bounced over to him, throwing her arms about his waist, twirling the boy in a circle.

"Another dream about prince charming?" he asked dryly, wriggling free from her might.

"Could you tell? Qrow it was great! We killed off all the Grimm, got equal rights for the Faunus, and baked _cookies_!"

"Thrilling," he said, slamming a mystery caffeinated beverage Taiyang had next to him. Whatever it was, Qrow needed it to deal with - this. 

Whatever _this_ was. 

He needed more sleep, but fuck off if he was going to trust it so fresh from - 

"Mhmmm,” Summer continued, oblivious to Qrow’s crisis. “He was a five-star pastry chef and a world class dancer too! Just as good as that couple from the dance.” 

_Ooooh great,_ Qrow thought. Summer knew damn well who person was and she delighted in reminding the boy every chance she got.

“Remember the ones I told you about?” she continued – at least she had the decency to let him play ignorant. “They were so great the way they moved their - "

Qrow spat the drink on the window in front of him, causing Taiyang to jump out of his seat, cursing. "Hey man, that was mine! If you're gonna steal it, then don't waste it!"

Qrow waved his hand vaguely at his blonde friend as if to shut him up as he wiped the liquid from his mouth.

"...like I said," Summer began again unable to contain her excitement, "he was great! And so were they! I mean the _chemistry_. I hope I find something like that someday," she sang dreamily, elbowing Qrow’s arm knowingly.

"They were skilled. Likely top Huntsmen. They were familiar with their bodies," Raven chimed in. “Agrios said some of them like to show off to students.”

Qrow didn't know how red he was, but he did know he was debating jumping out their dorm window and not transforming to save himself. He groaned, shoving his face into his shirt, taking too long to find his neck hole if only to hide from his teammates a little longer.

"Qrow, are you okay?" Summer asked, concerned when he couldn't find his way through the deep V-neck. "Are you still drunk? Your shirt is a button u -"

"Pfine!" the boy mumbled, wiggling further from the teammate he'd heard approaching. Another grunt revealed his messed bed head at last, the spikes turned fluffy at the edges from his struggles.

Summer stifled a laugh. Taiyang didn't even bother as he pointed at Qrow laughing, "You look like a wet cat."

Qrow shot him a glare, not that it did anything to the blond gripping his sides with amusement.

"They moved like felines," Raven said hopping down from her bed, joining in the unusual chance to poke fun at her twin. She came close, analyzing his every movement, Qrow feeling his stomach clench tight, anticipating how much worse the situation could get. _So much for breakfast._

She was studying him, probably to know why the two dancers got to him when he wasn't even present to witness their sexcapade-with-clothes-on.

Yeah, well, good luck. ‘Cause Qrow would rather drink poison than have her find out.

"Good for them," he said, toweling his hair and face once more despite being dry.

_Nope._

"Everyone was jealous how their hips -"

Qrow dropped his towel choosing his sister's bed to sit on as he pulled on his pants.

Specifically, her pillow.

"QROW!" she bellowed.

He knew she hated when he went commando. Even more when he soiled her sheets.

_Not gonna happen._

“Come on, man,” Taiyang groaned. “No one needs to see that.”

“Like you aren’t jealous.”

“Are you _literally_ comparing your – your – “ Summer went as red as her hair, stammering.

“When men don’t have anything redeeming about them, they brag about their dicks,” Raven said, grabbing Qrow by the arm and pulling him away from her bed. “I’m trading my pillow out for yours. You’re enough of an ass without putting my face on it.”

“You started it,” Qrow retorted, his tongue moving faster than his brain.

“And I’m going to finish it!”

“Hey now! We’ll swap the cases and – “ Taiyang gathered the pillows to switch the cases, trying to keep his head down before he had to choose between his best friend and his crush.

Before he could finish his statement, a third pillow, wielded by an unforeseen enemy, collided with Raven’s head. 

“Take a chill pill! It’s a pillow,” Summer giggled.

“Pillow fight,” Taiyang yelled, beginning to duel wield. Raven skipped the pillows altogether, charging for her brother whom slipped to the side last minute, the heated girl slamming shoulder first into Taiyang, knocking the two out the window.

Qrow turned toward the crash of broken glass, but he caught the flash of red hair coming at him.

Summer had seized another pillow and flew at Qrow full speed, a grin on her face and rose petals in her wake.

“Summer, wait – “

Qrow didn’t have time to move, the pillow colliding with his face with enough force that he felt his feet leave the floor. He hit the wall and heard the breath rip from his lungs with a muffled _oof._

When he looked up, Summer had a stricken expression on her face.

“Did I hurt y – oh!”

The pillow hit her squarely in the face.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Qrow taunted.

He didn’t know where the next strike came from, the pillow hitting him upside the face. He heard Tai laughing and Raven – 

\- she was _giggling_ as she struck Summer with a pillow, making a shrieking, laughing sound as Tai tackled her with a full duvet.

Amongst the laughing and flying furniture, none of the students heard the headmaster rap at their door.

They all, however, heard the shrill morning greeting of his assistant.

_”TEAM STRQ, AT ATTENTION!”_

Qrow froze – a pillow whizzed by him and struck Taiyang in the eye, the blond cursing – and all around him, his team followed suit, turning sheepishly toward the open dorm door. Only then did they realize the full extent of the damage of their pillow fight.

White feathers were strewn over the floor like a carpet, sprinkled with glittering bits of broken glass. One of the beds boasted an upturned mattress, sheets flung over a desk, Taiyang’s energy drink – bright green – splattered over the walls.

“Uh. H-hey, Professor Agrios,” Tai stammered.

Agrios’ expression only became colder.

“Well,” Professor Ozpin said from behind her, sipping from his mug. “Isn’t this a spirited way to begin one’s Saturday morning.”

Qrow’s breath caught, his hiccup audible in the silence, driving the boy to blush, turning his face far from Ozpin.

“What in the _world_ is this about?” Agrios demanded. “Branwen?”

_Like everything was always his fault._

“It – it wasn’t just him,” Summer broke in. “Not really. It was all of us. Just an argument that…turned into this.”

Agrios scowled. “A pillow fight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All things considered,” Ozpin interjected, placing a hand on Agrios’ shoulder, “it’s possibly the least destructive method in which Huntsmen-in-training could resolve an argument.”

“That or jello…” Taiyang offered meekly hoping the joke would lessen their punishment.

“I believe I’ve already seen the damage of a well-thrown gelatin in this dorm,” Ozpin remarked. 

“…right. Yes, sir.”

“Then I think whatever the issue that caused this is best kept and resolved through teamwork,” the headmaster said. “Miss Rose, I trust you to mediate.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I expect the rest of you to be receptive to civil conversation. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Tai and Raven said in unison. Taiyang offered her a sideways smile and, to his apparent surprise, she returned it.

“Mr. Branwen?”

Professor Ozpin’s eyes drifted to the final, silent member of Team STRQ. Still pink in the cheeks, he offered nothing more than a curt nod as he gazed out the open window for something – anything to distract him from the discomfort of the headmaster’s eyes studying his form.

“And,” Ozpin continued, mercifully letting Qrow stay silent, “I expect you all to clean this up, as a team. I’ll have maintenance come by today to replace the broken window.”

“Yes, sir,” came the unison reply, Qrow’s voice considerably quieter than the rest.

Ozpin’s gaze seemed to linger on Qrow, as though questioning his uncharacteristic quietness, but he didn’t point it out – not now, at least.

“As you were,” the headmaster said. “Come along, Ferra, I’m sure they’ve learned their lesson.” So saying, he sauntered off, utterly unware of the tension in Qrow’s every muscle from his presence.

“Sir – “ Professor Agrios followed the headmaster, arms flailing. “What _possible_ lesson did they learn? You didn’t _do_ anything!”

Her voice faded as they made their way down the hall, Qrow letting out a long breath. 

_How the hell was he going to ever face Ozpin again?_

***

Ferra Agrios yawned as she made her way back to the main hall, rubbing her eyes against the obnoxious morning sun.

“Eight o’clock on a Saturday, and Team STRQ is destroying half the dorms again,” she muttered. “I need coffee.”

“What a lovely suggestion,” Ozpin remarked. “To the faculty lounge?”

“You’re social today,” Ferra said, eyeing her boss suspiciously. “And cheerful.”

“It just happens that I finished my morning pot,” Ozpin said as they arrived at the main elevator. He slipped his cane under one arm to push the up button, offering her an innocent smile. “So I may borrow a cup from the lounge in the meantime.”

“Of course,” Ferra drawled. “You need coffee while you wait for your coffee to brew.”

“Naturally,” Ozpin said, with another smile.

_His happiness is creeping me out._

“Doesn’t explain why you’re so damn peppy this morning,” Ferra said. “It’s early. It’s the weekend.”

“Perhaps I just had pleasant dreams,” the headmaster said, stepping into the open elevator.

“Uh huh,” Ferra said, following him inside. “And it has nothing at all to do with that pirate you danced with last week?”

Ozpin’s smile became a bit smaller, more private. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Oh, please, you’re preening like Branwen after he pulls a prank. You like this man, don’t you?”

“I had a lovely time, while it lasted. That’s all.”

“Hmmph,” his assistant said, crossing her arms. “Not curious as to who he was?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“He was a professor or professional Huntsman,” Ozpin replied, pushing the button for the faculty lounge. “He wore the gold armband indicating such.”

Ferra shrugged. “So he’s one of over one hundred possible guests,” she said.

“I’m inclined to think he’s a professional Huntsman.”

“Oh?”

“The manner in which he danced – he was perfectly in tune with me despite my being a stranger. That sort of intuition only comes with an elite Huntsman.”

“Hmmm,” Ferra said. “So would you like me to send you the list of Huntsmen who confirmed their invite?”

Ozpin smiled that private smile again, the one Ferra found vaguely punchable. 

“I’m not interested, Ferra.”

“Not interested in men, or just this one?”

“Not interested in a _relationship,”_ Ozpin corrected.

“Bold words from someone who probably has never been on a proper date before,” his assistant muttered.

“I do suspect the owner of my favorite café has a bit of a crush on me. Perhaps if he takes pity on my lamentable social life, I’ll have that proper date.”

The elevator pinged and Ozpin stepped off, Ferra scurrying after him. From across the room, other faculty sat with coffee and breakfast pastries, most noticing the headmaster’s unusual presence with raised eyebrows.

“Would you actually say yes?” she pressed.

Ozpin gave her a sideways glance, heading toward the coffee machine. “Why the curiosity regarding my romantic life, or lack thereof? Why, Ferra, are you asking on a _personal_ level?”

Ferra recoiled in disgust. “Me, fall for you? You always know how to suck the fun out of any situation, sir.”

“It’s my finest talent,” Ozpin said, picking up the coffee pot.

Ferra sighed, accepting the cup of coffee from her boss. “So you work all the time, you drink coffee instead of sleeping, and you have no interest in normal, human interactions. Are you sure you’re not a robot?”

“Just a tired immortal who wishes to avoid heartbreak,” he said quietly.

Ferra blinked, looking up immediately. Ozpin met her eyes for a moment, his smile still present, but sadder now.

_He was insufferable._

_”See?”_ she exclaimed, slamming her mug on the table. “You just – suck _all of the fun_ out of everything! Hateful old man!”

She seized her coffee again, poured a generous amount of sugar into it to spite him, and scowled at him as she drank it. From across the room, Peter Port and Professor Peach’s conversation had halted abruptly; Ozpin glanced at them, feeling the attention of his assistant’s outburst.

“Ferra – “

“No, let me talk,” she said, lowering her voice. “You think that I’m just being nosy – and maybe I am. But it’s because I _care_ about you, you stupid old man. You think it’s fine for you to go without sleep and forget to eat, to break your ribs doing who _knows_ what in your underground vault, to be alone and distant from everyone you’ve ever met, but you _can’t._ You can’t keep people from caring about you. You can’t stop us from feeling hurt when we see how lonely you are. You can pretend, but you can’t _hide_ from it.”

So saying, she tipped the mug and took a too-large gulp of coffee, glaring at the headmaster with inflated cheeks.

“Ferra, I – “

Ozpin broke off the objection, falling silent.

Speechless. She finally left him speechless.

_Good._

Maybe now he’d finally _get it._

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about…any of this.”

“It’s not about your dating life, sir,” Ferra said, feeling a tension headache threatening. “It’s the bigger picture. But even you can’t convince me that you aren’t desperately lonely in that damn tower of yours.”

“My work – “

“I know. You’re trying to save the world and all that crap. But sir, immortal or not, you can still _die_ and you need to remember that hurts the people who love you.”

Ozpin’s eyes studied her face for a moment before dropping to his mug. “I see.”

“And maybe,” Ferra said, “it wouldn’t kill you to entertain getting close to someone. I don’t mean Branwen or your other pet projects. I mean, if someone asks you to dance, maybe get their damn name.”

Ozpin’s lips twitched. “I can try to remember that.”

“Good.” Ferra’s temper faded, leaving her feeling deflated. 

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

"Are you saying you owe me, sir?"

"If that's what is necessary, I suppose so."

Ferra grinned.

Ozpin looked mildly surprised at the sudden change.

She glanced toward Professor Peach and Mr. Port. “Doesn’t Sharon have a thing for you?”

“Professor Peach?” The headmaster’s eyes followed hers. “I…she has indicated some mild interest, yes, but – “

“I’m not asking you to ask her out,” Ferra said. “I just needed to know to exact my revenge.”

“Revenge?” Ozpin repeated, watching as Ferra brushed past him.

“Sharon, Pete.” Ferra plopped into a chair, smiling at them both. “Did you both have fun at the ball last week?”

“A capital night!” Port exclaimed. “Such talented dancers!”

“Indeed,” Professor Peach agreed, nodding eagerly. “We were just talking about it.”

“Speaking of talented dancers, did you happen to see the pair that stole the show at the beginning of the evening? The pirate and the man in blue?”

“Ferra…”

Ozpin had followed her, his murmur half into his cup of coffee.

“Oh, yes,” Peach said. “My _goodness,_ they were amazing. Wouldn’t I have loved to dance with one of them,” she added, giggling.

“Well,” Ferra said.

“Ferra, please don’t – “

“You may know the man in blue very well,” Ferra finished, looking deliberately at Ozpin.

The other faculty eyes followed. 

Ferra had never seen that particular shade of pink spread across the headmaster’s face. 

It was delicious to watch.

“Was it _really?”_ Professor Peach asked, her eyes growing wide.

Ozpin coughed. “I, ah, make dancing something of a hobby.”

“Do you?” Peach asked, leaning forward. “Do you teach it as well?”

“I – ah – “

“I’ll leave you to talk,” Ferra said, rising.

“Ferra – “

“Don’t worry about the incident with Team STRQ,” she continued, ignoring Ozpin’s increasingly desperate glances. “Have fun!”

She felt the headmaster’s glare on her back, but her smug smirk was far too satisfying to care.


	15. In which Qrow finally has to the face Ozpin again, and the two share a drink in the name of friendship

Almost a month after the Historical Masquerade, Qrow realized that avoiding the headmaster was no longer an option, simply because Ozpin no longer allowed it. He texted Qrow more frequently, asking innocent questions about Qrow’s schoolwork, or Team STRQ, or even the weather, as though purposefully evading the question of why Qrow was not attending their usual appointments.

It was obvious that the headmaster was making a point.

In the last week of school, Qrow received another such text, and he finally decided that this had gone on long enough. He had to face Ozpin again.

Qrow looked at the text on his scroll with a sinking stomach. 

“The year is nearly done and I’ve hardly seen you in weeks. If I am not imposing, a bottle of Mistrali whiskey in my office after class?”

Booze and one-on-one with the headmaster.

Yeah, because that ended so well the _last_ time.

But Qrow was fast running out of reasons to avoid Ozpin without it looking bad – without making Ozpin look for reasons.

Horrible reasons Qrow would rather have his tongue taken out then tell the headmaster.

He turned the scroll over in his hands too many times before finally unlocking it and positioning his thumbs to type a response.

“Fine…” he began. _Delete, delete, delete, delete…_ He had to at least sound enthusiastic about the whiskey. Protesting the offer would raise even more red flags.

“Get the chess out. I’ll be up - “ _delete, delete_ “ - there in ten.”

The confirmation sent, Qrow sighed long and deep, and reluctantly began the walk to the headmaster’s clocktower.

He found Ozpin in a good mood, the headmaster humming quietly to himself as he set up the marble chess set, two glasses of whiskey already poured, soft music playing along to the gentle ticks of the gears above.

Any other time, Qrow would have been happy to see the sight; now, his stomach turned, paranoia causing his blood pressure to flare. 

_Was it actually possible that Ozpin had no idea what had happened at the masquerade?_

From appearances, Qrow thought it was almost possible.

He refused to believe fate would allow him such good luck.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Branwen,” Ozpin said, raising brown eyes at the elevator ping. He always did that – the one formal greeting before everything became simply _Qrow_ and _Ozpin._

Qrow was suddenly grateful for the formality.

“Hey,” was all his nerves would allow, the young man opting to shove his fists in his pockets rather than give the headmaster any clues to the anxious twitches Qrow had gained since the masquerade. With a deep internal sigh, Qrow half sauntered, half shuffled to his customary seat, posing the ebony pieces.

At least the game would keep him distracted. And the whiskey. Lots of whiskey. But not so much he might say the wrong thing. But enough to calm his nerves. More to relax him. But not -

Qrow palmed the drink, taking a healthy gulp.

“Too good to resist,” he explained with a half smirk.

Ozpin raised an eyebrow, but his lips formed a small smile. “I thought that might be enough to coax you back here,” he said, resuming his seat and picking up his own glass. “You have been…difficult to corner lately, Qrow.” So saying, he moved a white pawn forward, settling into his chair.

Qrow felt his stomach turn, his memory unwillingly recalling the last time Qrow had the headmaster _cornered_. He took another long drink.

“I’ve been busy.”

“So I’ve heard,” Ozpin said. “Peter Port called you a ‘model student,’ which naturally alarmed me. But by all accounts, you have been. I should express some amount of pride in your studiousness, but…” The headmaster pressed his lips together. “Qrow, this is very unlike you. Is there anything you’d like to tell me? Something weighing on your mind?”

_The fact that there is not enough whiskey in the world to have this conversation._

“Just testing my abilities. It’s what you do at a school, right?”

Ozpin watched Qrow move a black pawn without thinking.

“If…that’s all, then I suppose I must commend your recent dedication,” the headmaster said. “But thank you for indulging me in a game of chess and an end-of-year drink. So, to change the subject to something lighter, how was your first school dance?”

The whiskey in Qrow’s glass threatened to spill as he choked on the contents, the student taking more than a minute to recover. Thoughts scrambling, he took time to thoroughly clear his throat. 

“Ah… survivable.” _So far,_ he thought, withholding a glare. “How was yours?” he asked off-handedly.

The self-rebuke came a moment later.

_You fucking know how his was, you idiot._

Ozpin looked briefly concerned with the student’s coughing. “Oh, I…” The headmaster paused, his eyes dropping into his glass. “It was…nice.”

Qrow glanced up at Ozpin’s faltering tone. “Nice?” he repeated.

Ozpin opened his mouth, closed it again, regarded his whiskey, and slowly turned pink.

“Nice,” the headmaster repeated. “That’s all. I didn’t stay long.”

“Long enough,” Qrow muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

_Idiot._

“Uh,” Qrow said, thinking fast. “You stayed long enough to dance.”

_Stop talking, Branwen!_

Ozpin blinked at Qrow. “I…Ferra obliged me once, yes.”

“And the pirate.”

Qrow cursed incoherently in his head. He was desperate to know if Ozpin suspected anything, but desperately afraid of the answer.

From the opposite side of the desk, the headmaster blushed.

“You saw that, did you? It seems everyone did.” Ozpin hesitated. “Yes, I danced with him. It was nice.” He cleared his throat and lifted his glass as though this confession was saying enough.

The entire Atlas army couldn’t stop the pink creeping into Qrow’s cheeks, forcing him to cover the act by clearing his throat again. 

“Good. Ah…good for you. You gonna see him again?”

“Ah, no, I…it’s for the best I don’t. We had a nice evening, as brief as it was, and that’s all. No names, no contact information, no…future. It’s for the best.”

The headmaster moved another pawn, as though that ended the conversation.

Qrow nodded in agreement, examining the pieces on the board, lost in thought. “Probably best since it could have been a student.”

“Oh, no,” Ozpin said immediately. “The gold armband indicated a professor, or an adult guest.”

“What?” Qrow finally lifted his eyes to the headmaster’s. 

_Gold armband?_ Qrow’s eyes darted every which direction, recalling the details of his intricate attire. The stone in his stomach hit the bottom, the pieces of the puzzle fitting nicely in place, Qrow cursing Summer in every way he knew.

“The armband,” Ozpin said, studying the chess board. “They were given to every registered adult guest this year. There’s always a way to tell the adults from the students; this year it was a gold armband.”

“I see…” Qrow digested the information further. So much made sense now. So much. “Then why won’t you pursue your date?”

“Come now, Qrow,” Ozpin said, his eyes on the board as though avoiding the student’s gaze. “I told you not long ago that I had no time to give to romance. Given my lack of time, and my – it’s not feasible. But more importantly…it’s too dangerous.” The headmaster moved his knight forward – almost haphazardly, taking a long sip of whiskey. “It’s best as few people call themselves my friend as possible.”

The student nodded again allowing the topic to drop – he was no longer in any danger, he had nothing to worry about. Ozpin would never search him out. Ozpin would never inquire who he was. He’d never –

“I simply enjoyed – and I mean you no offense – dancing with someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Qrow frowned at this interjection. 

_Damn it, Ozpin, I knew_ exactly _what I was doing -_

“Speaking of friends,” Ozpin continued, again breaking into Qrow’s thoughts, “considering how few I have, I confess I have missed your company, Qrow. Are you quite sure nothing is wrong? I may simply be a paranoid old man, but it feels as though you’ve been avoiding me.”

The bishop in Qrow’s grasp hovered, the student distracted by the sudden confession.

_Friends._

_We’re friends,_ Qrow heard in Ozpin’s voice.

Qrow’s crimson eyes locked onto Ozpin’s, full well knowing he could no longer brush the topic aside. He owed the headmaster that much in the least.

For friendship.

“There have been rumors,” Qrow began. “About us.” Although an excuse, it wasn’t an entire lie either. More than once he’d heard suspicious whispers.

Ozpin’s lips twitched again as he regarded the board. “There are always rumors about me,” he said, “but I regret to hear they may now involve you. Would you prefer I not ask for the details?”

The student shrugged, his gaze dropping to the forgotten bishop. “Just rumors. Brainwashing and shit like that,” he continued, haphazardly placing the piece. “Even _Lesca’s_ a part of it. Seriously thinks I’m either doing your dirty work or doing the dirty with – never mind.”

Qrow knew he was blushing and hated it; he felt Ozpin’s eyes on him and had no way to conceal it now.

“I see,” the headmaster said slowly. “That is unfortunate indeed, and I am sorry if I in any way contributed fuel. Given your progress, I would not object to reducing your number of lessons. Instead of three times a week, I could lower it to, say, once a week. If that would help rectify the situation.”

“They’re rumors. People are gonna talk if only ‘cause they get bored,” Qrow sighed, suddenly regretting not taking the polite out he was given for this excruciatingly awkward interaction. He knew there would be more to come. He knew Ozpin would -

Qrow forced his eyes anywhere but the lips they had been locked on for the last gods knew how many seconds, and took another healthy gulp of whiskey, this time holding it on his tongue for a pleasant distraction from what he was recalling his tongue did to those damned lips he couldn’t stop staring at.

If Qrow could kick the crap out of himself, knock some sense in, the bullshit out, he absolutely would.

_Ozpin was the headmaster, for fuck’s sake. Don’t think of him as anything but that._

“You said Professor Lesca was somehow involved in these rumors,” Ozpin said, mercifully interrupting Qrow’s thoughts. “Surely you don’t mean he is actively repeating them?”

“Would it make a difference? Like I said, rumors.”

“I suppose not,” Ozpin said, moving a white bishop forward. “The current investigation against him is of substance enough that spreading rumors about his headmaster is hardly scandalous in comparison. Still, I am sorry that you must bear his attentions in the meantime.”

“He bears mine too. I’m no angel in his class. He just doesn’t know I’m keeping his rap sheet secret.” 

Ozpin gave a noncommittal hum into his glass. “Friends, then?” he asked.

Qrow swirled the remaining contents of the precious whiskey taking the time to appreciate he knew a lot of people that would kill to be in his shoes right now – cushy chair, no Grimm, and whiskey to die for. And all because the headmaster trusted him.

Qrow finished the contents of the glass, nodding in agreement. “Yep. Friends,” he concluded with the clink of glass against the desktop.

Ozpin smiled again, rising to offer the bottle of whiskey to the student.

“Speaking of secrets,” he said, settling back into his chair. “I have one that I’ve been keeping from you. I suspect it’s time I was upfront about it.”

“If it’s another shitfest about how the world is going to end, can it wait until after we aren’t celebrating that I didn’t get expelled for another year?” 

“Oh, I have quite a few of those kind of secrets,” Ozpin remarked, chuckling. “But for today, I think something a little more…lighthearted. I chose you for my – well, protégé is not exactly the right word, but it will do for now. You caught my eye for a number of different reasons, but I never confided in the first.”

“’Cause you thought I was cute in a skirt?” Qrow asked dryly, skeptically taking another drink.

“Ah, a close guess – it was, after all, about appearances. As they say, _amicus verus est rara avis.”_

So saying, Ozpin raised his glass to his lips, the self-satisfied smile impossible to miss.

“Amicus… avis…” Qrow repeated scraping his fuzzy brain for Latin translations he’d long forgotten. It had been so long since the headmaster had spoken his secret language, Qrow had nearly forgotten his researches – necessary of course because Ozpin would never provide translations, the cheeky bastard. “You like birds?” he inquired, squinting in confusion.

“Well,” Ozpin said reasonably, “that’s _almost_ the point. Perhaps a different adage, in a language with which you’re more familiar: a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. Or in my case, a crow in hand is worth two in a bandit tribe.”

A poignant silence fell.

“Oh fuck.” Qrow visibly paled, the youth shrinking into his chair with his whiskey cup, his empty stare going through the glass as he realized every new bit of dirt the headmaster had on him. 

“Oh _fuck.”_ His chair matched his groan as his head collided with the back, Qrow’s free hand rubbing over his face to wash away the recollections.

“Now, now, it’s not that bad,” the headmaster said, pressing his lips together to suppress an obvious laugh. “Have another drink.”

_You don’t have to tell me twice,_ Qrow thought, downing his drink. “When did you find out?” he asked while pouring himself another glass – anything to get his mind off of the unpleasant revelation. 

“When?” Ozpin leaned back in his chair, sipping his whiskey, his eyes drifting. “Perhaps…one month after your skirt-clad initiation?” He shrugged, still oozing smugness. 

_Bastard._

“It was enough to catch my attention.”

Qrow only groaned again, his face in one hand and his whiskey in another.

“Come now, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Ozpin said. “It’s quite a remarkable talent.”

_He can’t possibly know everything. He can’t tell which crow I am from all the others on campus._

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Qrow said. “Why keep it a secret that you knew?”

Ozpin chuckled. “I think you’ve known me long enough to know that I play my hand rather close to the chest, Qrow. At first, I merely thought you had an unusual Semblance. Then, as I grew to know you…I realized how useful that skill could be for me. But I needed to see you in action; I needed to know that the average person would not suspect a mischievous crow to be anything more than that.”

“ _That’s_ why you wanted me to run the secret missions.” Today was an endless sea of revelations, yet Qrow was quickly coming to the conclusion he should have just grabbed the bottle and ran before Ozpin could say a damn thing. He could have avoided all of the awkwardness, all of the thin veils of truth for his avoidance, all of this newfound betrayal…

He _knew_.

“The walks?”

“Do you mean the times you would fly through my window and coax me to leave the office?” Ozpin said, shaking his head fondly. “Oh, yes, I knew. Yes, I admit that your ability first gave me the idea of recruiting you as a spy, but your other talents as a Huntsman convinced me you were right for the job. As for the walks…call me sentimental, but I just enjoyed seeing you have a bit of fun. Uninhibited. I personally understand the appeal of forgetting one’s identity, even if for a few hours’ time. It’s not something I wanted to disrupt.”

Qrow fell silent, absorbing the new information, his stomach flipping with ease with help from whiskey at his next thought. “And the…the n –“

He couldn’t finish the question, the heat on his cheeks too much. He buried his face in his hands again.

“I beg your pardon?”

“…the nest?”

Silence fell, a pause long enough that Qrow eventually lifted his eyes. Ozpin’s expression had changed, smoothed into something almost unreadable.

Unreadable for anyone other than Qrow maybe.

_He didn’t know about the fucking nest._

“…what nest?” Ozpin said at last.

Qrow waved his hand in the air dismissing the whole question. “Nothing. Outside. Don’t worry about it.”

But Ozpin’s eyes were already scanning the slowly turning gears in the glass ceiling. “Did you – “ He paused, another subtle change in his expression. “You have a _nest_ in my office? I – “

He pressed his lips together. “For how long?”

“Long enough,” Qrow replied, cryptically sensing for the first time in the evening he had any semblance of an upper hand.

“Qrow, any conversations you may have overheard are strictly confidential,” the headmaster said, his tone turning lecture-like. “I may have taken you into my confidence, but I did not agree to allow you to eavesdrop on matters that do not concern you.”

“Good thing you trust me then, isn’t it, _Professor_. You should be lucky I’m sharing my information with you instead of withholding it like you did.”

“Sharing it by accident,” Ozpin retorted. “But…I concede to your point.” He mused over his glass of whiskey for a moment. “Then, an accord, as friends: I will no longer keep secrets regarding your…avian adventures, and you at least attempt not to eavesdrop on matters concerning the Academy or the Council.”

“Tch. Easy for you to say. You know my secret. And it’s not like I eavesdrop on purpose. I just like naps.”

Ozpin’s eyes drifted back up toward the gears, a smile playing on his lips. “That’s actually…somehow comforting to think about. All right, then a different accord: why don’t you ask me about something you’d like to know. Full transparency. Then we’ll be even.”

“Fine. How old are you?” he eyed Ozpin skeptically as though trying to calculate an amount.

Ozpin laughed. “You can’t expect me to own it.”

“You said ‘full transparency.’”

“Full transparency to the best of my ability.”

Qrow shot Ozpin a glare. “That’s bullshit. You know, you just won’t fess up,” he growled, snatching his drink, and gulping a healthy amount. “Fine,” he sighed, “I’ll give you an easy one. What’s your last name?”

“Implying that ‘Ozpin’ is my first name?” the headmaster countered.

Qrow rolled his eyes, his drink spilling a drop on Ozpin’s desk when the young man’s glass collided against the top, completely and utterly exasperated at the headmaster’s evasions. 

“What about your Sembl – “

“Qrow, I told you – “

“If you aren’t going to answer anything, what’s the point?”  
“If I _can_ answer – “

“Are you _actually_ going to?”

“If you ask something!”

“Oz, god damn it! Fine! Do the carpets match the drapes?”

“Yes!”

Qrow expected the shocked expression on the headmaster’s face, the blush that sprouted there, the shift of eyes to the safer view of his whiskey glass. 

What he didn’t expect was Ozpin to actually respond.

“…ah,” Ozpin said, giving an uncomfortable cough. 

The blush that crept into the student’s cheeks matched the headmaster’s, Qrow immediately regretting his flippant choice of words. 

_Why_ had he asked that? _WHY?_ He didn’t even truly want to know the answer.

Qrow cursed, reclaiming his drink only to take a long, slow drag to distract him from the mental images flooding his mind.

“…that was a rhetorical question,” Ozpin said, reading Qrow’s mood. 

“Why would you answer that?!”

The headmaster’s blush deepened. “Why did you _ask_ that?”

“It was obviously a joke!”

“I…” Ozpin struggled to find a rebuttal. 

“…look, I thought it was obvious, but I guess not. Sorry.”

“Of course. My apologies as well.”

The student waved his hand at the headmaster to quiet him until he finally broke for air. “Let’s settle on you owe me later,” his raised finger holding pause, “and never speak of this again.”

“Agreed,” Ozpin murmured into his whiskey. 

For a moment they drank in silence; Qrow couldn’t remember if it was his turn but moved a bishop anyway, a desperate excuse to think about something other than silver hair.

“Does your team know?” Ozpin asked at length.

“About your carp –“

“About your being a bird!” the headmaster interjected, flushing red again. He put a finger to his forehead in a motion that vaguely looked as though he wished it was a gun.

“Oh.”

_Good job, Branwen. You just can’t keep your fucking mouth shut._

He shot the rest of his whiskey, feeling the room spin.

“Naturally,” Ozpin continued, kindly cutting Qrow’s thoughts off, “I assume your sister preferred to keep your shared secrets from your team – at first. But perhaps her opinions on Miss Rose and Mr. Xiao Long have softened after two years?”

“’Shared secrets?’” Qrow countered.

Ozpin offered a pointed look.

“Okay, yeah, fine,” Qrow said. “Raven can do it too.”

“Ravens are a bit rare in this part of Vale,” the headmaster remarked, “and so despite her discretion, it was difficult not to notice her presence.”

Qrow snorted, eyeing the whiskey bottle. 

Ozpin wouldn’t let him have much more – unless Qrow could keep a sober front.

“Ugly things,” Qrow said. “All big and gangly.”

Ozpin chuckled. “I will admit I prefer crows myself,” he said. “They’re a bit…friendlier.”

Qrow snorted again, this time so violently that he coughed. “You’re being polite.”

“Always.”

“Are you ever impolite?”

Ozpin paused, considering this question. 

“If you gotta think about it, it’s a no,” Qrow said.

Ozpin sipped his whiskey, raising an eyebrow at his student.

“Come on,” Qrow said, leaning forward – the whiskey bottle only a few feet away. “Why don’t you just shoot your drink and say something rude?”

Ozpin laughed quietly. “About what? Or whom?”

_”Whom?”_ Qrow mimicked, the word hilarious with the alcohol in his system.

“It’s grammatically – “

“I dare you,” Qrow said, interrupting the headmaster’s impending speech, “to loosen the hell up.”

Ozpin opened his mouth, closed it again, and looked at his glass. 

Then the headmaster straightened in his chair and tossed back the rest of his whiskey.

_Holy shit._

Qrow grinned, shocked that Ozpin had actually listened to him.

“You are,” Ozpin said, placing the glass on desktop, “one of the cleverest students I have ever had at Beacon Academy. You perpetually surprise and impress me in a manner I have never known; you learn with a quickness that astonishes me, an astonishment that is second only to the manner in which you learn etiquette and then completely throw it away in favor of vulgarity and crude humor.”

Qrow’s grin grew throughout this lecture.

“So I get under your skin – “

“I wasn’t finished,” Ozpin announced. “You’re violent when you know better, you pick fights with other students for the sake of sport, you say such…such _awful_ things and ask such personal questions and I – I find it so indescribably _irritating_ that I…”

“Need a drink?” Qrow offered. 

“Yes!” Ozpin said.

Qrow snickered as he rose on wobbly legs, reaching for the bottle.

_“Professor,”_ he said with a dramatic bow, refilling Ozpin’s glass.

“That,” the headmaster said, leveling a finger at Qrow. “That’s the kind of sarcastic, anti-authoritative tone that makes me consider tossing you out the window.”

“So why don’t you?” Qrow asked, still grinning as he poured himself another drink. “Not like it’ll hurt me.”

Ozpin snorted, the sound all indignance. 

“You’re such an ass,” he said.

“Can’t argue that,” Qrow laughed. “You know, I’ve only heard you swear like two or three times?”

“And you’ve earned each one,” Ozpin retorted.

“Not saying I don’t. It’s just funny when you swear, you know? In that prim and proper voice. You should do it more often.”

“My profession hardly allows for casual cursing,” Ozpin said dryly. “It’s best that I don’t fall into unsavory habits before students.”

“You said we’re friends, right?” Qrow countered. “So what’s a little swearing between friends?”

Ozpin only shook his head, raising his glass.

“Come on. One little swear?”

Ozpin laughed. “Thank you, but no, I think I’ve been accommodating enough to your suggestions tonight.”

“So drink more until you get over it.”

“I’m not _under_ it.”

“Good, because swearing isn’t a big deal.”

“I know it isn’t,” Ozpin said, his tone growing testy.

“So why make it a big deal?”

Qrow could tell he was poking at exposed nerves now, but this – a tipsy attempt to see what made the headmaster tick – was a refreshing change from the nightmares and avoidance in the past few weeks.

“I believe you’re the one making it a ‘big deal,’” Ozpin said. 

“So say ‘fuck’ and I’ll stop.”

“You’re acting like a child,” Ozpin said.

“I’m not afraid of adult words.”

“It’s _not_ an adult word.”

“What isn’t?”

“Fuck!”

A long silence fell, in which Qrow watched Ozpin’s eyes widen behind his glasses.

Qrow’s mouth fell open. “Holy shit,” he said. _”Holy. Shit.”_

Ozpin blinked, as though grasping for an explanation. “I – “ he said, and then hiccupped. 

Qrow, still in disbelief of his ears, started laughing – a great, deep belly laugh that made him clutch at the desk, tears threatening to spill.

“Holy shit,” he choked at last. “I can’t believe you fell for that!”

“Well, I…” Ozpin stammered for a moment, interrupted by another hiccup. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – “

“Don’t apologize,” Qrow said. “Just own it, Oz.”

Ozpin closed his mouth, looking vaguely distressed. 

“Come on,” Qrow began, still fighting a fit of giggling and now clutching at his side. “Didn’t it feel good?”

“I…well, I-“ 

“Oz. You gotta relax e’ery once in a while. Live life, ‘cause you don’t know how long it’s gonna last.” Qrow’s slurred words slipped out as he reclaimed his glass, the threat of eminent party foul no longer present. “And that’s why you have me,” he smirked, taking a slow sip.

“You sound like Ferra,” the headmaster mumbled. “The bit about relaxing, not about you. I’m certain she still regards you like some manner of cockroach.”

“Do they get you to curse too?”

“I admit that they bother me exceedingly less often,” Ozpin said, trying to sound stern but failing. 

“Still, I’m proud of you, Oz,” Qrow declared.

The headmaster paused, looking surprised. “Proud? Why?”

“For swearing! It’s good for you!”

“’Good for me?’” Ozpin repeated, laughing. “How on earth can you justify that?”

“If you don’t loosen up, you’ll go crazy. Loosening up is how you make friends. You know. Bond.” Qrow didn’t have much experience in the bonding thing growing up, but that was one thing Team STRQ had taught him.

Ozpin looked at his whiskey.

“What’s the matter, Oz? You wanna bond with me, right?” Qrow hiccupped, hearing the innuendo in his words too late.

But Ozpin snorted, smiling quietly. “Maybe when you’re older.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Qrow’s face scrunched, perplexed.

“Nothing, nothing,” Ozpin said, waving a tipsy hand. “We’re friends, after all. We’re bonding. In our own way.”

Qrow grinned. “It’s easy when you bring out the good stuff.”

Ozpin laughed again. “I like this, you know. ‘Loosening up.’ It’s nice…with you.”

Qrow felt the blush but was too drunk to care now. With all the whiskey in his blood, Qrow appreciated the comment, the closeness with a man who no one else could claim closeness. He finished his glass and replaced it on the desk.

“Again next year?” he asked. “I don’t mind startin’ up the lessons again.”

Qrow was surprised how much he meant it. The embarrassment, the awkwardness – these things would pass eventually, maybe even over the summer when they were apart. Ozpin was his friend, after all, and Ozpin didn’t have many friends. Not people who he would do this with, the drinking and the laughing that no one else saw, the clear but decided lowering of the walls he kept up for everyone else.

Ozpin made it clear that Qrow was special. Qrow’s embarrassment didn’t seem like such a big deal next to that.

Across the desk, the headmaster smiled into his whiskey. “I would like that very much, Qrow,” he said.


	16. Epilogue: Faculty Evaluations

**Faculty Evaluation Questionnaire**

What about the professor and his/her teaching is most and least helpful for your learning?  
Briefly explain.  
 _...Private lessons work, but too much attention is a problem. Lesca is a moron and needs to be fired (who has a fire Semblance?) Ozpin isn't a bad guy, but holy fuck is he clueless sometimes. For being so smart, he can miss a lot if he doesn’t want to see it. And (this is 100% confidential, right?) I admit, his teaching style works. I don't hate everyone and wish their death anymore. Still prefer the old man's company to be honest. So he's on to something if he can fix someone like me._

When do you find the professor making him/herself least clearly understood?  
 _Two years and he is still cryptic. It’s still annoying, but I have gotten good at reading between the lines. HOWEVER. He should fucking identify himself at the masquerade. He shouldn’t be allowed to eavesdrop on private conversations, or worse._

When do you feel most intellectually stimulated by this course?  
 _Anytime I am with Ozpin. Less of the masses to drop my IQ._

When are you clearest about what material ought to be in your notes?  
 _EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE IN THE NOTES. His small smirks mean so much more than he lets on. When he sighs - it can mean 50 different things. When he smiles - sometimes, sometimes it means he seriously hates whoever he is talking to. He is like planning their decimation. The guy is a mad man pulling all the strings and I love it. Like it. Whatever. It is entertaining._

When are you confused about what material ought to be in your notes?  
 _See above. There are no stupid notes when it comes to Oz. Professor Ozpin._

When do you feel most convinced that the course is worth your effort?  
 _Ozpin is complicated. He doesn’t say most of what you need to know, but if he trusts you. REALLY trusts you, then it’s worth it. You learn things… skills… knowledge…  
Nothing can beat knowing how to save yourself. Nothing beats that trust._

When do you feel most certain that the instructor cares whether you succeed in the course?  
 _When he laughs when bad things mysteriously happen to bad people. And I have absolutely nothing to do with it. Promise. It uh... shows a common sense of morals? Camaraderie?_

When do you most want to discuss the material in this course with your peers?  
 _I can’t really. Not yet. But we’re getting there. It has brought me and my team leader closer, which is cool, I guess. She a lot happier now that she has someone to help deal with the heavy stuff._

With the professor?  
 _All the time? There isn't even a course for him, but we talk about damn near anything. Even if I don't want to. Oz... Ozpin is a pain in the ass, but he’s annoyingly easy to talk to. And the gears in his office are soothing._

When do you find yourself listening most intently to lecture material in this course?  
 _Most of the time. Seriously. N.O.T.E.S. Kinda hard when I get distracted sometimes. Shiny or colorful moving things especially. Like his glasses. Or his eyes when they twinkle because you know he's thinking something and you have to reference all your fucking notes to figure out what, and then it clicks, and you are smiling too._

Which assignments/class activities are least relevant to course objectives and student needs?  
 _The other professors._

What challenges are you facing in this class in terms of your learning?  
 _I have gotten better at paying attention to people, but I still don’t like listening to other professors when I can just learn stuff from watching Ozpin 50 times faster later._

What suggestions do you have to improve the course?  
 _Skip the other lectures and let me just learn off private lessons. Sporadically. And with my team leader sometimes so it isn’t awkward._

What can the professor do better to facilitate your learning?  
 _Not a thing. Even the cryptic shit is kinda fun. Cause I can read it now. Cause I took notes. Look, he taught me something. He would laugh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of Year 2!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, for your kudos, and your comments! They really keep our motivation going! We'll be taking a one or two week break while we compile and edit Year 3. We're very excited to dig in even deeper in Oz and Qrow's growing relationship! <3


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